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TEN   AMERICAN    GIRLS 
FROM    HISTORY 


BOOKS  BY 
KATE    DICKINSON    SWEETSER 

TEN  AMERICAN   GIRLS   FROM   HISTORY.     Illustrated. 
BOOK   OF   INDIAN   BRAVES.     Illustrated. 
BOYS   AND   GIRLS  FROM   ELIOT.     Illustrated. 
BOYS   AND    GIRLS  FROM   THACKERAY.     Illustrated. 
TEN   BOYS   FROM   DICKENS.     Illustratrated. 
TEN   BOYS   FROM   HISTORY.     Illusratsd. 
TEN   GIRLS   FROM   DICKENS.     Illustrated. 
TEN   GIRLS   FROM   HISTORY.     Illustrated. 
TEN   GREAT   ADVENTURERS.     Illustraied. 


HARPER    &    BROTHERS,   NEW    YORK 
[ESTABLISHED    1817] 


MOLLY     PITCHER 


TEN  AMERICAN  GIRLS 
FROM    HISTORY 


BY 
KATE  DICKINSON  SWEETSER 

AUTHOR   OF 

"TEN   BOYS  FROM   HISTORY" 

"TEN  BOYS  FROM  DICKENS" 

ETC. 


ILLUSTRATED   BY 
GEORGE    ALFRED   WILLIAMS 


HARPER  &  BROTHERS  PUBLISHERS 

NEW    YORK    AND     LONDON 


, 


TEN  AMERICAN  GIRLS  FROM  HISTORY 


Copyright,    1917,   by   Harper  &   Brothers 

Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America 

Published  October,  1917 

K-R 


TO 

EDITH  BOLLING  WILSON 

"THE  FIRST  LADY  OF  THE  LAND" 

A     DESCENDANT     OF     POCAHONTAS,     THE     INDIAN 

GIRL    OF    THE    VIRGINIA    FOREST   WHO    LINKS 

THE    FLOWER    OF    EARLY    AMERICA   WITH 

THE  "NEW  FREEDOM"  OF  TODAY,  THIS 

BOOK   IS    CORDIALLY   DEDICATED. 


':*  O  i  A*  U  > 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 


FOREWORD xi 

POCAHONTAS:  THE  INDIAN  GlRL  OF  THE  VIRGINIA  FOREST  .  .  I 
DOROTHY  QUINCY:  THE  GIRL  OF  COLONIAL  DAYS  WHO  HEARD 

THE  FIRST  GUN  FIRED  FOR  INDEPENDENCE 36 

MOLLY  PITCHER:  THE  BRAVE  GUNNER  OF  THE  BATTLE  OF 

MONMOUTH 71 

ELIZABETH  VAN  LEW:  THE  GIRL  WHO  RISKED  ALL  THAT  SLAVERY 

MIGHT  BE  ABOLISHED  AND  THE  UNION  PRESERVED  ....  86 
IDA  LEWIS:  THE  GIRL  WHO  KEPT  LIME  ROCK  BURNING;  A  HEROIC 

LIFE-SAVER "  ...  125 

CLARA  BARTON:  "THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  BATTLEFIELDS"  ....  143 
VIRGINIA  REED:  MIDNIGHT  HEROINE  OF  THE  PLAINS  IN  PIONEER 

DAYS  OF  AMERICA 174 

LOUISA  M.  ALCOTT:  AUTHOR  OF  "LITTLE  WOMEN " 207 

CLARA  MORRIS:  THE  GIRL  WHO  WON  FAME  AS  AN  ACTRESS  .  .  236 

ANNA  DICKINSON:  THE  GIRL  ORATOR 271 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

MOLLY  PITCHER Frontispiece 

POCAHONTAS    SAVES    CAPTAIN   JOHN    SMITH facing  *•      4 

Miss  VAN  LEW  BRINGING  FOOD  TO  THE  UNION  SOLDIER  IN 

THE  SECRET  ROOM 108 

IDA  LEWIS 128 

VIRGINIA  GOES  FORTH  TO  FIND  HER  EXILED  FATHER    .     .  "       194 


FOREWORD 

THE  loyalty  of  Pocahontas,  the  patriotism  of  Molly 
Pitcher  and  Dorothy  Quincy,  the  devoted  service  of 
Clara  Barton,  the  heroism  of  Ida  Lewis,  the  enthusiasm  of 
Anna  Dickinson,  the  fine  work  of  Louisa  Alcott — all  challenge 
the  emulation  of  American  girls  of  to-day.  Citizen-soldiers 
on  a  field  of  service  as  wide  as  the  world,  young  America 
has  at  this  hour  of  national  crisis  its  chance  to  win  recog 
nition  for  fidelity,  for  bravery,  and  for  loyal  service,  with 
victory  for  American  ideals  as  its  golden  reward,  in  a  world 
"made  safe  for  democracy/' 

My  first  aim  in  bringing  the  lives  of  these  ten  American 
girls  from  history  to  the  attention  of  the  girls  of  to-day 
has  been  to  inspire  them  to  like  deeds  of  patriotism  and 
courage.  Second  only  to  that  purpose  is  a  desire  to  make 
young  Americans  realize  as  they  read  these  true  stories  of 
achievement  along  such  widely  varying  lines  of  work,  that 
history  is  more  thrilling  than  fiction,  and  that  if  they  will 
turn  from  these  short  sketches  to  the  longer  biographies 
from  which  the  facts  of  these  stories  have  been  taken,  they 
will  find  interesting  and  absorbing  reading. 

May  the  book  accomplish  its  twofold  object,  and  so 
justify  its  publication  at  this  time  of  the  testing  of  all  true 
Americans. 

KATE  DICKINSON  SWEETSER. 

August  i,  1917. 


TEN   AMERICAN    GIRLS 
FROM    HISTORY 


TEN   AMERICAN   GIRLS 
FROM    HISTORY 


POCAHONTAS:     THE     INDIAN     GIRL    OF     THE 
VIRGINIA  FOREST 


UNLIGHT  glinting  between  huge  forest  trees,  and  blue 
skies  over-arching  the  Indian  village  of  Werewocomoco 
on  the  York  River  in  Virginia,  where  Powhatan,  the  mighty 
"  Werowance,"  or  ruler  over  thirty  tribes,  was  living. 

Through  Orapakes  and  Pamunkey  and  other  forest  settle 
ments  a  long  line  of  fierce  warriors  were  marching  Indian 
file,  on  their  way  to  Werewocomoco,  leading  a  captive  white 
man  to  Powhatan  for  inspection  and  for  sentence.  As 
the  warriors  passed  into  the  Indian  village,  they  encoun 
tered  crowds  of  dusky  braves  and  tattooed  squaws  hurrying 
along  the  wood  trails,  and  when  they  halted  at  the  central 
clearing  of  the  village,  the  crowd  closed  in  around  them  to 
get  a  better  view  of  the  captive.  At  the  same  time  there 
rose  a  wild  clamor  from  the  rear  of  the  throng  as  a  merry 
group  of  shrieking,  shouting  girls  and  boys  darted  forward, 
jostling  their  way  through  the  crowd. 

Their  leader  was  a  slender,  straight  young  girl  with  laugh 
ing  eyes  such  as  are  seldom  seen  among  Indians,  and  hair 
as  black  as  a  crow's  wing  blown  about  her  cheeks  in  wild 
disorder,  while  her  manner  was  that  of  a  happy  hearty 

i 


.  JETS: -AMERICAN.  GIRLS   FROM  HISTORY 

forest  niaideh.  This  was  Matoaka,  daughter  of  the  Wero- 
wance  Powhatan,  and  although  he  had  many  subjects  as 
well  as  twenty  sons  and  eleven  daughters,  not  one  was  ruled 
so  despotically  as  was  he  himself,  by  this  slender  girl  with 
laughing  eyes,  for  whom  his  pet  name  was  Pocahontas, 
or  in  free  translation,  "little  romp." 

Having  established  themselves  in  the  front  row  of  the 
crowd  the  girls  and  boys  stood  eagerly  staring  at  the  prisoner, 
for  many  of  them  had  never  seen  a  white  man  before,  and 
as  Pocahontas  watched,  she  looked  like  a  forest  flower  in 
her  robe  of  soft  deer-skin,  with  beaded  moccasins  on  her 
shapely  feet,  coral  bracelets  and  anklets  vying  with  the  color 
in  her  dark  cheeks,  while  a  white  plume  drooping  over 
her  disordered  hair  proclaimed  her  to  be  the  daughter  of  a 
great  chief.  In  her  health  and  happiness  she  radiated  a 
charm  which  made  her  easily  the  ruling  spirit  among  her 
mates,  and  compelled  the  gaze  of  the  captive,  whose  eyes, 
looking  about  for  some  friendly  face  among  the  savage 
throng,  fastened  on  the  eager  little  maiden  with  a  feeling 
of  relief,  for  her  bright  glance  showed  such  interest  in  the 
prisoner  and  such  sympathy  with  him  as  was  to  endear  her 
to  his  race  in  later  years. 

The  long  line  of  braves  with  their  heads  and  shoulders 
gaily  painted  had  wound  their  slow  way  through  forest, 
field,  and  meadow  to  bring  into  the  presence  of  the  great 
"Werowance"  a  no  less  important  captive  than  Captain 
John  Smith,  leader  in  the  English  Colony  at  Jamestown 
by  reason  of  his  quick  wit  and  stout  heart.  The  settlers 
having  been  threatened  with  a  famine,  the  brave  Captain 
had  volunteered  to  go  on  an  expedition  among  neighboring 
Indian  villages  in  search  of  a  supply  of  corn.  The  trip 
had  been  full  of  thrilling  adventures  for  him,  and  had  ended 
disastrously  in  his  being  taken  prisoner  by  Opechan- 
canough,  the  brother  of  Powhatan.  The  news  of  Smith's 


POCAHONTAS 

capture  having  been  carried  to  the  great  Werowance,  he 
commanded  that  the  pale-faced  Caucarouse,  or  Captain, 
be  brought  to  him  for  sentence.  And  that  was  why  the 
warriors  marched  into  Werewocomoco,  Opechancanough  in 
the  center,  with  the  firearms  taken  from  Captain  Smith 
and  his  companions  carried  before  him  as  trophies.  The 
prisoner  followed,  gripped  by  three  stalwart  Indians,  while 
six  others  acted  as  flank  guards  to  prevent  his  escape,  and 
as  they  passed  into  Werewocomoco  they  were  greeted  by 
yelling  savages  brandishing  weapons  and  surging  forward 
to  get  a  better  glimpse  of  the  white  captive.  The  pro 
cession  halted  for  a  few  minutes  at  the  village  clearing,  then 
moved  slowly  on  to  Powhatan's  "Chief  Place  of  Council," 
a  long  arbor-like  structure  where  the  great  Werowance  was 
waiting  to  receive  Captain  Smith. 

The  crowd  of  boys  and  girls  followed  in  the  wake  of  the 
warriors  until  the  Council  Hall  was  reached,  when  they  all 
dropped  back  except  their  leader.  Pushing  her  hair  from 
her  low  brow,  that  she  might  see  more  clearly,  and  walking 
with  the  erectness  of  a  Werowance's  daughter,  Pocahontas 
entered  the  hall  and  stood  near  her  father  where  she  could 
not  only  watch  the  white  captive,  who  appealed  strongly 
to  her  fancy,  but  could  also  note  Powhatan's  expression  as 
he  passed  judgment  on  the  prisoner. 

With  inscrutable  reserve  and  majestic  dignity  the  great 
ruler  bowed  as  the  captive  was  led  before  his  rustic  throne, 
where  he  reclined  in  a  gorgeous  robe  of  raccoon-skins.  On 
either  side  of  the  Council  Hall  sat  rows  of  dusky  men  and 
women,  with  their  heads  and  shoulders  painted  red,  some 
of  the  women  wearing  garments  trimmed  with  the  white 
down  from  birds'  breasts,  while  others  wore  long  chains  of 
white  beads  about  their  necks. 

It  was  a  picturesque  sight  for  English  eyes,  and  fearful 
though  he  was  of  foul  play,  the  Captain  could  not  but  ap- 

2  3 


TEN  AMERICAN  GIRLS  FROM  HISTORY 

predate  the  brilliant  mingling  of  gay  colors  and  dark  faces. 
As  he  stood  before  the  Chief,  there  was  a  clapping  of  hands 
to  call  an  Indian  woman,  the  Queen  of  the  Appamattock, 
who  brought  water  to  wash  the  captive's  hands,  while  an 
other  brought  a  bunch  of  feathers  to  dry  them  on.  "What 
next?"  Captain  Smith  wondered  as  he  watched  further  prep 
arations  being  made,  evidently  for  a  feast,  of  which  he  was 
soon  asked  to  partake. 

Under  the  circumstances  his  appetite  was  not  keen,  but 
he  felt  obliged  to  pretend  to  a  relish  that  he  did  not  feel, 
and  while  he  was  eating  his  eyes  lighted  up  with  pleasure  as 
he  saw  by  her  father's  side — though  he  did  not  know  then 
of  the  relationship — the  little  Indian  girl  whose  interest  in 
him  had  been  so  apparent  when  he  saw  her  in  the  village. 
He  dared  not  smile  in  response  to  her  vivid  glance,  but  his 
gaze  lingered  long  on  the  vision  of  youth  and  loveliness,  and 
he  turned  back  to  his  meal  with  a  better  appetite. 

The  feast  at  an  end,  Powhatan  called  his  councilors  to 
his  side,  and  while  they  were  in  earnest  debate  Captain 
Smith  knew  only  too  well  that  his  fate  was  hanging  in  the 
balance.  At  last  a  stalwart  brave  arose  and  spoke  to  the 
assemblage.  The  captive,  so  he  said,  was  known  to  be  the 
leading  spirit  among  the  white  settlers  whose  colony  was 
too  near  the  Indians'  homes  to  please  them,  also  in  his  ex 
pedition  in  search  of  corn  he  had  killed  four  Indian  warriors 
with  "mysterious  weapons  which  spoke  with  the  voice  of 
thunder  and  breathed  the  lightning,"  and  he  had  been 
spying  on  their  land,  trying  to  find  some  secret  means  by 
which  to  betray  them.  With  him  out  of  the  way  their 
country  would  be  freed  from  a  dangerous  menace,  therefore 
he  was  condemned  to  death. 

Doomed  to  die!  Although  he  did  not  understand  their 
words,  there  was  no  misunderstanding  their  intention. 
Immediately  two  great  stones  were  rolled  into  the  hall,  to 

4 


POCAHONTAS    SAVES    CAPTAIN    JOHN     SMITH 


POCAHONTAS 

the  feet  of  Powhatan,  and  the  Captain  was  seized  roughly, 
dragged  forward  and  forced  to  lie  down  in  such  a  position 
that  his  head  lay  across  the  stones.  Life  looked  sweet 
to  him  as  he  reviewed  it  in  a  moment  of  quick  survey  while 
waiting  for  the  warriors'  clubs  to  dash  out  his  brains.  He 
closed  his  eyes.  Powhatan  gave  the  fatal  signal — the  clubs 
quivered  in  the  hands  of  the  executioners.  A  piercing  shriek 
rang  out,  as  Pocahontas  darted  from  her  father's  side, 
sprang  between  the  uplifted  clubs  of  the  savages  and  the 
prostrate  Captain,  twining  her  arms  around  his  neck  and 
laying  her  own  bright  head  in  such  a  position  that  to  kill 
the  captive  would  be  to  kill  the  Werowance's  dearest 
daughter. 

With  horror  at  this  staying  of  his  royal  purpose,  and  at 
the  sight  of  his  child  with  her  arms  around  the  white  man's 
neck,  Powhatan  stared  as  if  at  a  hideous  vision,  and  closed 
his  ears  to  the  sound  of  her  voice  as  her  defiant  Indian  words 
rang  out: 

"No!    He  shall  not  die!" 

The  savages  stood  with  upraised  weapons;  Powhatan 
sat  rigid  in  the  intensity  of  his  emotion.  Watching  him 
closely  for  some  sign  of  relenting,  Pocahontas,  without  mov 
ing  from  her  position,  began  to  plead  with  the  stern  old 
Chief, — begged,  entreated,  prayed — until  she  had  her  desire. 

"Let  the  prisoner  go  free!" 

Through  the  long  Council-room  echoed  Powhatan's  order, 
and  a  perfunctory  shout  rose  from  the  savage  throng,  who 
were  always  quick  to  echo  their  Chief's  commands.  Cap 
tain  Smith,  bewildered  by  the  sudden  turn  of  affairs,  was 
helped  to  rise,  led  to  the  beaming  girl,  and  told  that  the 
condition  of  his  release  from  death  was  that  he  might 
"make  hatchets  and  trinkets"  for  Pocahontas,  the  Wero 
wance's  dearest  daughter.  So  his  deliverer  was  the  daugh 
ter  of  the  great  Chief!  With  the  courtly  manner  which  he 

5 


TEN  AMERICAN  GIRLS   FROM  HISTORY 

had  brought  from  his  life  in  other  lands  he  bent  over  the 
warm  little  hand  of  the  Indian  maiden  with  such  sincere 
appreciation  of  her  brave  deed  that  she  flushed  with  hap 
piness,  and  she  ran  away  with  her  playmates,  singing  as 
merrily  as  a  forest  bird,  leaving  the  pale-faced  Caucar- 
ouse  with  her  royal  father,  that  they  might  become  better 
acquainted.  Although  she  ran  ofF  so  gaily  with  her  com 
rades  after  having  rescued  Captain  Smith,  yet  she  was  far 
from  heedless  of  his  presence  in  the  village,  and  soon 
deserted  her  young  friends  to  steal  shyly  back  to  the  side 
of  the  wonderful  white  man  whose  life  had  been  saved 
that  he  might  serve  her. 

During  the  first  days  of  his  captivity — for  it  was  that — 
the  Captain  and  Powhatan  became  very  friendly,  and  had 
many  long  talks  by  the  camp-fire,  by  means  of  a  sign  lan 
guage  and  such  words  of  the  Algonquin  dialect  as  Captain 
Smith  had  learned  since  coming  to  Virginia.  And  often 
Pocahontas  squatted  by  her  father's  side,  her  eager  eyes 
intent  on  the  Captain's  face  as  he  matched  the  old  ruler's 
marvelous  tales  of  hoarded  gold  possessed  by  tribes  living 
to  the  west  of  Werewocomoco,  with  stories  of  the  cities  of 
Europe  he  had  visited,  and  the  strange  peoples  he  had  met 
in  his  wanderings.  Sometimes  as  he  told  his  thrilling  tales 
he  would  hear  the  little  Indian  maid  catch  her  breath  from 
interest  in  his  narrative,  and  he  would  smile  responsively 
into  her  upturned  face,  feeling  a  real  affection  for  the  young 
girl  who  had  saved  his  life. 

From  his  talks  with  Powhatan  the  Englishman  found  out 
that  the  great  desire  of  the  savage  ruler  was  to  own  some 
of  the  cannon  and  grindstones  used  by  the  colonists,  and 
with  quick  diplomacy  he  promised  to  satisfy  this  wish  if 
Powhatan  would  but  let  him  go  back  to  Jamestown  and  send 
with  him  warriors  to  carry  the  coveted  articles.  This  the 
wily  Indian  ruler  promised  to  do,  and  in  return  offered  him 

6 


POCAHONTAS 

a  tract  of  land  which  he  did  not  own,  and  from  which  he 
intended  to  push  the  settlers  if  they  should  take  possession 
of  it.  And  Captain  Smith  had  no  intention  of  giving  either 
cannon  or  grindstones  to  Powhatan,  so  the  shrewd  old  sav 
age  and  the  quick-witted  Captain  were  well  matched  in 
diplomacy. 

Meanwhile,  Powhatan's  interest  in  his  white  captive  be 
came  so  great  that  he  gave  him  the  freedom  he  would  have 
accorded  one  of  his  own  subjects,  even  allowing  Pocahontas 
to  hunt  with  him,  and  when  evening  came  she  would  sit 
by  the  great  fire  and  listen  to  her  Captain's  stories  of  his 
life  told  with  many  a  graphic  gesture  which  made  them  clear 
to  her  even  though  most  of  his  words  were  unintelligible. 

Then  came  a  day  when  the  captive  was  led  to  a  cabin  in 
the  heart  of  the  forest  and  seated  on  a  mat  before  a  smolder 
ing  fire  to  await  he  knew  not  what.  Suddenly  Powhatan  ap 
peared  before  him,  fantastically  dressed,  followed  by  two 
hundred  warriors  as  weirdly  decorated  as  he  was.  Rushing 
in,  they  surrounded  the  frightened  Captain,  but  quickly  dis 
pelled  his  fears  by  telling  him  that  they  were  all  his  friends 
and  this  was  only  a  ceremony  to  celebrate  his  speedy  return 
to  Jamestown,  for  the  purpose  of  sending  back  cannon  and 
grindstones  to  their  Chief. 

This  was  good  news.  The  Captain  showed  hearty  ap 
preciation  of  the  favor,  and  at  once  said  his  farewells. 
Powhatan,  the  inscrutable,  who  bade  him  a  dignified  good- 
by,  repeated  his  promise  to  give  him  the  country  of  the 
Capahowsick,  which  he  did  not  own,  and  said  he  should 
forever  honor  him  as  his  own  son.  Then,  with  an  escort 
of  twelve  Indians,  Captain  Smith  set  out  for  Jamestown, 
and  beside  him  trudged  Pocahontas,  looking  as  resolute  as 
if  she  were  in  truth  a  forest  Princess  escorting  her  chosen 
cavalier  through  the  wilderness. 

As  they  picked  their  way  along  the  rough  trail,  the  Cap- 

7 


TEN  AMERICAN  GIRLS  FROM  HISTORY 

tain  told  her  such  tales  of  the  settlement  as  he  could  make 
clear  to  her  and  repeated  some  simple  English  words  he 
had  been  trying  to  teach  her.  As  he  talked  and  as  she 
said  over  and  over  the  words  she  had  learned,  Pocahontas 
gripped  his  arm  with  rapt  interest  and  longed  to  follow 
where  he  led.  But  night  was  coming  on,  it  was  unwise 
for  her  to  go  beyond  the  last  fork  of  the  trail,  and  so,  re 
luctantly,  she  parted  from  her  new  and  wonderful  friend. 
But  before  she  left  him  she  darted  to  the  side  of  a  trusty 
warrior  and  gave  a  passionate  command,  then  started  swift 
ly  back  on  the  long  wood  path  leading  to  Werewocomoco. 
The  next  night  no  one  could  make  her  laugh  or  join  in  the 
dances  around  the  big  fire,  nor  did  she  show  any  likeness  to 
the  light-hearted,  romping,  singing  little  tomboy,  ring 
leader  among  her  playmates.  Pocahontas  had  lost  a  com 
rade,  and  her  childish  heart  was  sore  at  the  loss.  But  when 
the  warriors  returned  from  Jamestown  she  became  merry 
and  happy  again,  for  had  the  Caucarouse  not  sent  her  back 
strings  of  beads  more  beautiful  than  any  she  had  ever  seen 
before,  such  as  proved  surely  that  he  had  not  forgotten 
her? 

The  truth  of  the  matter  was,  that  on  reaching  the  colony, 
Captain  Smith  showed  the  Indians  a  grindstone  and  told 
them  to  carry  it  back  to  Powhatan,  but  when  they  tried 
to  lift  it  and  found  its  great  weight  they  were  utterly  dis 
concerted.  Then  the  wily  Captain  showed  them  a  cannon 
purposely  loaded  with  stones,  and  had  it  discharged  among 
the  icicle-laden  trees,  which  so  terrified  the  savages  that 
they  ran  away  and  refused  to  take  another  look  at  it. 
Then  Captain  Smith  cleverly  suggested  that  they  carry 
back  trinkets  in  place  of  the  articles  which  were  so  heavy, 
and  the  Indians  went  happily  away  without  the  promised 
gifts,  but  bearing  many  smaller  things,  some  of  which  the 
Captain  was  thoughtful  enough  to  suggest  be  given  to  Poca- 

8 


POCAHONTAS 

hontas  as  a  slight  token  of  his  appreciation  of  her  great  ser 
vice  to  him. 

Little  he  dreamed,  man  of  the  world  though  he  was,  that 
the  small  courtesy  would  mean  as  much  to  the  Indian 
maiden  as  it  did,  nor  could  he  know  that  from  that  hour 
the  dreams  of  Pocahontas  were  all  to  be  built  around  the 
daily  life  of  the  pale-faced  men  in  the  Jamestown  settlement. 
Even  when  she  joined  her  playmates  in  her  favorite  games 
of  Gus-ga-e-sa-ta  (deer  buttons),  or  Gus-ka-eh  (peach-pit), 
or  even, — tomboy  that  she  was, — when  she  turned  somer 
saults  with  her  favorite  brother  Nantaquaus  and  his  com 
rades,  she  was  so  far  from  being  her  usual  lively  self  that  the 
boys  and  girls  questioned  her  about  the  reason.  In  reply  she 
only  flung  back  her  head  with  an  indifferent  gesture,  and 
walked  away  from  them.  Later  when  the  great  fires  blazed  in 
Council  Hall  and  Long  House,  she  sought  the  trusty  warrior 
who  had  accompanied  Captain  Smith  to  Jamestown,  and 
he  gave  her  such  news  of  the  settlers  as  he  had  heard  from 
the  Indians  who  loafed  about  Jamestown.  They  were  on 
friendly  terms  with  the  white  men,  who  let  them  come  and 
go  at  will  as  long  as  they  were  peaceful  and  did  not  try  to 
pilfer  corn  or  firearms. 

Winter  came  with  its  snow  and  zero  weather,  and  Poca 
hontas  heard  of  great  hunger  and  many  privations  among  the 
colonists.  She  held  a  long  secret  conversation  with  the  In 
dian  warrior  who  knew  of  her  interest  in  the  pale-faced 
Caucarouse,  then,  at  twilight  of  a  bitter  cold  day,  she  stole 
out  from  her  wigwam,  met  the  warrior  at  the  beginning  of 
the  Jamestown  trail,  and  after  carefully  examining  the  store 
of  provisions  which  she  had  commanded  him  to  bring,  she 
plunged  into  the  gloomy  wood  trail  with  her  escort,  hurrying 
along  the  rough  path  in  the  darkness,  until  she  reached  the 
rough  stockade  guarding  the  entrance  to  the  settlement. 

The  man  on  watch,  who  had  heard  many  glowing  de- 

9 


TEN  AMERICAN  GIRLS   FROM  HISTORY 

scriptions  of  the  maiden  who  had  saved  his  Captain's  life, 
recognized  her  at  once  and  admired  her  exceedingly  as  she 
stood  there  in  her  dusky  imperiousness,  demanding  to  see 
the  Captain.  Astonished,  but  pleased  at  her  coming,  Smith 
quickly  came  to  greet  her  and  was  enthusiastic  in  his  thanks 
for  the  provisions  she  had  brought.  Then  by  the  flare  of 
a  torch  he  showed  his  eager  guest  as  much  of  their  little 
village  as  could  be  seen  in  the  fast-falling  darkness,  enjoy 
ing  her  questions  and  her  keen  interest  in  such  buildings 
and  articles  as  she  had  never  seen  before.  She  responded 
to  the  Englishmen's  cordiality  with  shy,  appreciative  glances 
and  would  have  liked  to  linger,  but  it  was  too  late  for  her  to 
remain  longer,  and  the  colonists  crowded  around  her  with 
expressions  of  regret  that  she  must  leave  and  renewed 
thanks  for  her  gifts.  Then  Pocahontas  and  her  Indian  es 
cort  started  back  toward  Werewocomoco,  taking  the  trail 
with  flying  feet  that  her  absence  might  not  be  discovered. 

From  that  day  she  often  found  her  way  to  Jamestown, 
carrying  stores  of  provisions  from  her  father's  well-filled 
larder,  sometimes  going  in  broad  daylight,  with  rosy  cheeks 
and  flying  hair,  after  her  morning  swim  in  the  river,  at  other 
times  starting  out  on  her  errand  of  mercy  at  twilight,  al 
ways  protected  by  a  faithful  warrior  who  was  on  terms 
of  intimacy  with  the  settlers  and  felt  a  deep  pride  in  their 
admiration  for  Pocahontas,  whom  they  called  "The  Little 
Angel,"  and  well  they  might,  for  they  would  have  gone  with 
out  food  many  a  time  during  that  bitter  winter  but  for  her 
visits. 

As  for  Powhatan,  he  was  too  well  accustomed  to  the  forest 
excursions  of  his  "dearest  daughter,"  and  to  having  her 
roam  the  neighboring  country  at  will,  to  watch  her  care 
fully.  He  knew  that  his  daughter  was  safe  on  Indian  ter 
ritory,  never  dreaming  that  she  would  go  beyond  it,  and  as 
her  guide  was  loyal,  there  was  no  one  to  prevent  her  from 

10 


POCAHONTAS 

following  out  her  heart's  desires  in  taking  food  to  her  Cap 
tain  and  his  people. 

But  as  time  went  on  and  Powhatan  heard  more  of  the 
wonderful  firearms  and  useful  articles  possessed  by  the 
white  men,  he  became  not  only  bitterly  jealous  of  them, 
but  determined  to  secure  their  arms  and  articles  for  his  own 
use.  "  So  when  the  valiant  Captain  made  another  visit  to 
Werewocomoco  and  tried  to  barter  beads  and  other  trinkets 
for  corn,  the  old  chief  refused  to  trade  except  for  the  coveted 
firearms,  which  the  Captain  declined  to  give.  But  he  did 
give  him  a  boy  named  Thomas  Salvage,  whom  Powhatan 
adopted  as  his  son,  and  in  exchange  gave  Smith  an  Indian 
boy,  Namontack.  Then  there  were  three  days  of  feasting 
and  dancing,  but  of  trading  there  was  none,  and  Captain 
Smith  was  determined  to  get  corn."  He  showed  Powhatan 
some  blue  beads  which  took  the  Indian  ruler's  fancy  and 
he  offered  a  small  amount  of  corn  in  exchange  for  them,  but 
the  Captain  laughed  scornfully.  Those  beads  were  the 
favorite  possession  of  Kings  and  Queens  in  other  countries, 
why  should  they  be  sold  to  Powhatan  ?  he  asked.  Powhatan 
became  eager — offered  more  corn.  The  Captain  hesitated, 
shook  his  head,  and  played  his  part  in  the  transaction  so 
well  that  when  at  last  he  gave  in,  he  had  secured  three 
hundred  bushels  of  corn  for  the  really  worthless  beads! 

In  the  following  months  the  Indians  threw  off  their  mask 
of  friendliness  for  the  colonists  and  began  to  steal  the  fire 
arms  so  coveted  by  Powhatan.  For  some  time  the  white 
men  were  patient  under  the  annoyance,  but  when  knives 
and  swords  began  to  go,  a  watch  was  set  for  the  thieves, 
and  nine  of  them  were  caught  and  detained  at  the  James 
town  fort,  for  Captain  Smith  suspected  treachery  on  Pow- 
hatan's  part  and  determined  to  hold  them  until  all  the  stolen 
articles  were  sent  back.  In  return  the  Indians  captured  two 
straggling  Englishmen  and  came  in  a  shouting  throng  to 

ii 


TEN  AMERICAN  GIRLS  FROM  HISTORY 

the  fort  clamoring  for  the  release  of  the  imprisoned  Indians. 
Out  came  the  bold  Captain  and  demanded  the  instant  free 
ing  of  the  settlers.  His  force  and  tactics  were  so  superior 
to  those  of  the  savages  that  they  were  obliged  to  give  up 
their  captives.  Then  the  Captain  examined  his  Indian 
prisoners  and  forced  them  into  a  confession  of  Powhatan's 
plot  to  procure  all  the  weapons  possible  from  the  colonists, 
which  were  then  to  be  used  to  kill  their  rightful  owners. 
That  was  all  the  Captain  wanted  of  the  Indians,  but  he  still 
kept  them  imprisoned,  to  give  them  a  wholesome  fright. 
Powhatan,  enraged  at  hearing  of  the  failure  of  his  plot 
against  the  white  men,  determined  that  his  warriors  should 
be  freed  at  once.  He  would  try  another  way  to  gain  his 
end.  From  his  rustic  throne  in  the  Council  Hall  he  sent 
for  Pocahontas.  She  was  playing  a  game  of  Gawasa  (snow- 
snake)  with  two  of  her  comrades,  but  left  them  instantly 
and  ran  to  the  Council  Hall.  Long  and  earnestly  Powhatan 
talked  to  her,  and  she  listened  intently.  When  he  had 
finished  a  pleased  expression  flashed  into  her  black  eyes. 

"I  will  do  what  you  wish,"  she  said,  then  ran  back  to 
join  in  the  game  she  had  left  so  suddenly. 

The  next  morning  she  went  swiftly  along  the  forest  trail 
now  so  familiar  to  her,  and  at  length  approached  the  set 
tlers'  stockade  and  demanded  audience  with  the  Captain. 
He  was  busy  chopping  trees  at  the  other  end  of  the  settle 
ment,  but  dropped  his  ax  at  the  summons  and  hurried  to 
bid  the  little  maiden  welcome  with  the  courtly  deference 
he  always  showed  her,  whether  he  really  felt  it  or  not. 
With  folded  arms  and  intent  silence  he  listened  to  her  plea: 

For  her  sake  would  he  not  give  up  the  Indians  detained 
in  the  fort  as  prisoners?  Powhatan  was  very  anxious  that 
the  pleasant  relations  between  himself  and  the  Englishmen 
should  not  be  disturbed  by  such  an  unfriendly  act  as  hold 
ing  his  men  captive.  Would  the  noble  Caucarouse  not 

12 


POCAHONTAS 

free  them  for  the  sake  of  that  maiden  who  had  saved  his 
life? 

Captain  Smith  listened  with  a  set  expression  and  sol 
dierly  bearing  and  tried  to  evade  glancing  into  the  girl's 
eager  eyes,  but  found  it  impossible.  One  look  broke  down 
his  iron  determination,  and  bending  over  her  hand  with  his 
Old  World  chivalry,  he  said : 

"Your  request  shall  be  granted.  They  shall  be  freed, 
but  not  in  justice,  simply  as  an  act  of  friendship  for  you, 
who  saved  my  life." 

His  intention  was  clear,  though  his  words  were  not 
understood.  Joyfully  Pocahontas  beamed  and  blushed  her 
rapturous  thanks.  Smith,  none  too  happy  over  the  result 
of  Powhatan's  shrewd  move,  called  forth  the  sullen  warriors 
from  the  fort,  and  sent  them  on  their  way  back  to  Were- 
wocomoco,  led  by  victorious  Pocahontas. 

But  the  Indian  girl  did  not  spend  all  of  her  time  in  such 
heroic  deeds  as  this,  nor  in  dreaming  of  the  pale-faced 
Caucarmtse.  She  was  usually  the  merry,  care-free  child  of 
the  forest  and  daily  led  her  mates  in  sport  and  dance. 
Once  when  the  Captain  went  to  Werewocomoco  to  confer 
with  Powhatan  on  matters  concerning  neighboring  tribes, 
and  found  the  great  Chief  away  from  home,  Pocahontas 
did  the  honors  of  the  village  in  her  father's  place.  After 
sending  an  Indian  runner  to  request  the  old  ruler  to  return, 
she  invited  Smith  and  his  companions  to  be  seated  in  an 
open  space  before  the  huge  fire  which  had  been  built  for 
their  benefit. 

There,  with  the  clear  starlit  sky  over  their  heads,  and 
the  forest  on  all  sides,  they  awaited  the  pleasure  of  their 
dusky  hostess.  But  she  remained  away  from  them  for  so 
long  that  they  grew  uneasy,  fearing  some  plot  against  them. 
While  the  Captain  was  wondering  what  to  do  in  case  of 
treachery,  the  woods  suddenly  resounded  with  wild  shrieks 

13 


TEN  AMERICAN  GIRLS  FROM  HISTORY 

and  hideous  yells.  All  jumped  to  their  feet,  but  stepped 
back  at  sight  of  Pocahontas,  who  darted  from  the  woods  to 
the  Captain's  side  and  said  that  there  was  nothing  to  fear, 
that  she  would  not  allow  a  hair  of  the  white  men's  heads 
to  be  injured,  but  had  merely  arranged  a  masquerade  to 
amuse  her  guests  while  they  awaited  Powhatan's  coming. 
Then  she  flitted  back  into  the  forest,  and  presently  she 
danced  out,  leading  a  band  of  thirty  young  Indian  girls, 
whose  bodies  were  all  stained  with  puccoon  and  painted  with 
gay  colors,  while  such  garments  as  they  wore  were  made 
of  brilliant  green  leaves.  "Pocahontas,  as  leader,  wore  a 
head-dress  of  buck's  horns  and  girdle  of  otter-skin;  across 
her  shoulder  was  slung  a  quiver  filled  with  arrows,  and 
she  carried  a  bow.  Her  companions  all  carried  rattles 
made  of  dried  gourds,  or  clubs,  or  wooden  swords  as  they 
rushed  out  of  the  forest  yelling  and  swaying  to  weird  music 
while  they  formed  a  ring  around  the  fire.  There  they  joined 
hands  and  kept  on  dancing  and  singing  in  a  weird,  fantastic 
way  for  an  hour,  when  at  a  whoop  from  their  leader  they  all 
ran  into  the  forest,  but  soon  came  back  in  their  ordinary 
Indian  dress,  to  spread  a  feast  before  the  white  men  and 
spend  the  remainder  of  the  evening  in  dancing  and  revels, 
after  which,  by  the  light  of  flaming  torches,  they  escorted 
their  guests  to  their  tents  for  the  night." 

The  next  morning  Powhatan  came  back,  and  was  told 
Captain  Smith's  errand.  He  had  come  to  invite  the  old 
Werowance  to  visit  Jamestown,  to  receive  gifts  which 
Captain  Newport,  a  colonist  who  had  just  come  back  from 
England,  had  brought  from  King  James.  The  King  had 
been  much  interested  in  what  Newport  told  him  about  the 
Indian  ruler,  and  thought  it  would  be  a  fine  idea  to  send 
him  back  some  presents,  also  a  crown,  which  he  suggested 
might  be  placed  on  the  savage's  head  with  the  ceremonies 
of  a  coronation,  and  the  robe  thrown  over  his  shoulders, 


POCAHONTAS 

while  he  was  proclaimed  Emperor  of  his  own  domains. 
This  ceremony,  King  James  thought,  might  bring  about  a 
warmer  friendship  between  the  red  men  and  the  colonists, — 
a  result  much  to  be  desired.  And  so  Captain  Smith  gave 
the  invitation  while  Pocahontas,  never  far  away  when  her 
Caucarouse  was  at  Werewocomoco,  listened  eagerly  for  her 
father's  reply. 

Powhatan  received  the  invitation  in  silence  and  smoked 
a  long  time  before  answering.  Then  he  said: 
.  "If  your  King  has  sent  me  presents,  I  also  am  a  King, 
and  this  is  my  land.  Eight  days  will  I  stay  to  receive 
them.  Your  father  (Newport)  is  to  come  to  me,  not  I  to 
him,  nor  yet  to  your  fort." 

Wily  Powhatan!  He  had  no  intention  of  visiting  the 
white  men's  stronghold,  when  by  so  doing  he  might  walk 
into  some  trap  they  had  laid  for  him! 

And  so  Pocahontas  was  disappointed  in  her  eager  hope 
of  going  with  her  father  to  the  settlement  where  her  white 
friends  lived,  and  where  she  could  see  her  wonderful  Cap 
tain  daily.  But  there  was  no  help  for  it.  Powhatan  re 
sisted  both  her  pleading  and  the  arguments  of  the  Captain, 
who  was  obliged  to  carry  back  the  old  Werowance's  refusal 
to  Captain  Newport. 

"Then  we  will  take  the  gifts  to  him!"  said  Newport, 
stoutly.  "The  King  would  never  forgive  me  if  I  did  not 
carry  out  his  wish." 

And  so  to  Werewocomoco  went  the  two  Captains  together, 
bearing  their  offerings  to  Powhatan,  who  received  them  with 
dignity,  and  showed  a  mild  interest  when  presented  with  a 
bedstead  and  a  basin  and  pitcher  such  as  the  English  used. 
But  when  Captain  Smith  tried  to  throw  the  coronation  robe 
over  his  shoulders  he  drew  away  haughtily,  wrapped  his  own 
mantle  around  him,  and  refused  to  listen  to  argument  or 
entreaty.  Namontack  hastily  assured  him  that  the  gar- 

15 


TEN  AMERICAN  GIRLS  FROM  HISTORY 

ments  were  like  those  worn  by  the  English  and  would  do 
him  no  harm,  and  Pocahontas,  seeing  the  Captain's,  eager 
ness  to  accomplish  his  end, 'and  also  keenly  interested  in 
this  new  game,  begged  her  father  to  accept  the  beautiful 
gifts.  Her  words  influenced  the  old  ruler,  and,  standing  as 
stiff  and  straight  as  a  wooden  image,  he  let  himself  be  dressed 
up  in  the  garb  of  English  royalty.  Then  he  was  told  to 
kneel  while  the  crown  was  placed  on  his  head,  but  this  was 
too  much  for  even  Pocahontas  to  expect  of  him.  He  folded 
his  arms  and  stood  like  a -pine-tree.  In  vain  Pocahontas 
urged,  in  vain  the  two  white,  men  bent  and  bowed  and  knelt 
before  him  to  show  him  what  he  ought  to  do. 

At  last  Captain  Smith  grew  impatient  and  laid  a  power 
ful  hand  on  the  Werowance's  broad  shoulders;  uncon 
sciously  he  stooped.  The  crown  was  hurriedly  placed  on 
his  head,  and  a  volley  of  shots  was  fired  to  show  that  the 
ceremony  was  over.  At  the  shots  Powhatan  sprang  free 
like  a  wild  creature,  sure  that  he  had  been  trapped,* and 
Captain  Smith  appealed  to  Pocahontas  to  explain  to  -her 
terrified  father  that  the  firing  was  only  part  of  the  program. 
Meanwhile  both  Captains  bowed  ceremoniously  before  the 
savage  ruler,  calling  him  by  his  new  title — Emperor — and 
finally  soothed  and  reassured,  he  stood  as  erect  and  digni 
fied  as  of  old,  and  beckoning  majestically  to  Namontack, 
bade  him  bring  his  old  moccasins  and  mantle  to  send  to 
King  James  in  return  for  the  crown  and  robe! 

Much  amused,  Captain  Newport  thanked  him  and  re 
ceived  the  gift,  but  told  him  that  more  than  moccasins  or 
mantles,  the  Englishmen  desired  his  aid  in  attacking  a 
neighboring  and  hostile  tribe.  In  this  desire,  however, 
Powhatan  showed  no  interest,  and  the  two  Captains  were 
obliged  to  leave  Werewocomoco  without  his  co-operation, 
which  would  have  been  of  much  benefit  in  subduing  the 
unfriendly  tribe.  But  the  coronation  ceremony  had  been 

16 


POCAHONTAS 

accomplished;  that  was  one  thing  for  which  to  be  thankful 
and  Captain  Newport  had  for  the  first  time  seen  the  charm 
ing  Indian  girl  who  had  become  such  an  ally  of  the  set 
tlers,  so  he  felt  well  repaid  for  the  visit,  although  to  him 
Pocahontas  showed  none  of  the  spontaneous  sumpathy 
which  she  gave  so  joyously  to  Captain  Smith. 

And  now  again  came  winter  and  with  it  privation  and 
hunger  for  the  colonists.  Corn  must  be  procured.  There 
was  only  one  man  stout-hearted  enough  to  venture  on  an 
other  expedition  in  search  of  it,  and  that  was  Captain 
Smith.  He  decided  to  go  to  Werewocomoco  once  more,  and 
if  he  found  the  new-made  Emperor  rebellious,  to  prompt 
ly  make  him  prisoner  and  carry  away  his  stores  of  corn  by 
force. 

While  the  Captain  and  his  men  were  making  ready  to 
start  on  the  expedition,  to  their  great  surprise  messengers 
arrived  from  Powhatan  inviting  Captain  Smith  to  visit 
Werewocomoco  again  if  he  would  bring  with  him  men  to 
build  a  house  and  give  the  Emperor  a  grindstone,  fifty 
swords,  some  firearms,  a  hen  and  rooster,  and  much  beads 
and  copper,  for  which  he  would  be  given  corn. 

Immediately  forty-six  Englishmen  set  out  on  a  snowy 
December  day,  in  two  barges  and  a  pinnace,  for  Werewo 
comoco.  The  first  night  they  spent  at  the  Indian  village 
of  Warrasqueake,  where  a  friendly  chief  warned  Captain 
Smith  not  to  go  further. 

"You  shall  find  Powhatan  to  use  you  kindly,"  he  said, 
"but  trust  him  not,  and  be  sure  he  have  no  opportunity  to 
seize  on  your  arms,  for  he  hath  sent  for  you  only  to  cut 
your  throats." 

On  hearing  these  words  many  of  his  comrades  would  have 
turned  back,  but  the  Captain  spoke  to  them  in  such  coura 
geous  words  that  in  spite  of  the  warning  all  continued  on 
their  way. 

17 


TEN  AMERICAN  GIRLS  FROM  HISTORY 

While  they  were  journeying  on  toward  their  destination, 
Pocahontas,  at  Werewocomoco,  was  daily  with  her  father, 
watching  him  with  alert  ears  and  eyes,  for  she  saw  that  the 
old  ruler  was  brooding  over  some  matter  of  grave  import, 
and  she  drew  her  own  inference.  Only  when  planning  to 
wage  war  on  an  alien  tribe  or  plotting  against  the  James 
town  settlers  did  he  so  mope  and  muse  and  fail  to  respond 
to  her  overtures.  Late  one  evening,  when  she  saw  two  of 
his  loyal  warriors  steal  to  his  side,  in  order  to  hear  their 
conversation  better  she  climbed  a  near-by  tree  and  listened 
to  their  muttered  words.  Her  suspicions  were  confirmed. 
There  was  need  of  her  intervention  again.  From  that  mo 
ment  until  she  had  foiled  Powhatan's  design,  she  was  on 
guard  day  and  night  watching  and  waiting  for  the  coming 
of  the  Englishmen,  often  lying  sleepless  in  her  wigwam  to 
listen  for  some  unwonted  noise  in  the  hushed  forest. 

When  the  party  from  Jamestown  reached  the  Indian  vil 
lage  the  river  was  frozen  over  for  a  half-mile  from  shore. 
With  his  usual  impetuous  courage  the  Captain  broke  the 
ice  by  jumping  into  the  frozen  stream,  and  swam  ashore, 
followed  by  the  others,  who  were  ashamed  to  be  less  cour 
ageous  than  he.  It  was  nearly  night,  and  they  took  pos 
session  of  a  deserted  wigwam  in  the  woods  near  the  shore 
and  sent  word  to  Powhatan  that  they  were  in  immediate 
need  of  food,  as  their  journey  had  been  a  long  one,  and  asked 
if  he  would  not  send  provisions  at  once.  In  response  an 
Indian  runner  came  to  their  wigwam  bearing  bread,  turkeys, 
and  venison,  much  to  the  delight  of  the  half-starved  colonists. 
Refreshed  by  a  good  meal,  they  slept  heavily  in  the  still 
forest,  and  early  the  next  morning  went  to  pay  their  re 
spects  to  Powhatan,  who  was  in  his  "  Chief  Place  of  Council " 
awaiting  their  visit  in  his  gala  robe  of  luxurious  skins  and 
elaborate  feather  head-dress.  His  greeting  was  courteous, 
but  he  at  once  turned  to  Captain  Smith  and  asked: 

18 


come." 


POCAHONTAS 

When  are  you  going  away?     I  did  not  invite  you  to 


Although  taken  by  surprise,  quick-witted  Captain  Smith 
did  not  show  his  feelings,  but  pointing  to  a  group  of  Indian 
warriors  standing  near,  he  said: 

"There  are  the  very  men  who  came  to  Jamestown  to 
invite  us  here!" 

At  this  Powhatan  gave  a  guttural  laugh  and  changed  the 
subject  at  once,  by  asking  to  see  the  articles  which  Captain 
Smith  had  brought  for  exchange.  Then  began  a  long  and 
hot  discussion  in  which  neither  the  Captain  nor  the  wily 
Emperor  gained  a  point.  Powhatan  refused  to  trade  un 
less  the  white  men  left  their  firearms  on  their  barges  and 
would  barter  corn  only  for  the  coveted  articles.  Captain 
Smith  would  not  accede  to  his  demands  even  to  get  the 
much-needed  corn,  and  was  on  his  guard  because  of  the 
warning  he  had  received,  knowing  that  Powhatan  was  only 
waiting  for  the  right  moment  to  kill  him. 

The  debate  went  on  for  hours,  during  which  there  had 
been  only  one  trade  made  when  Smith  exchanged  a  copper 
kettle  for  forty  bushels  of  corn.  Annoyed  at  this,  he  de 
termined  to  take  matters  into  his  own  hand.  Beckoning 
to  some  friendly  Indians,  he  asked  them  to  go  to  the  river 
bank  and  signal  to  his  men  on  the  barges  to  come  ashore 
with  baskets  to  take  back  the  corn  for  which  he  had  traded 
the  kettle.  Meanwhile  he  kept  up  a  brisk  conversation  with 
the  old  Werowance  to  divert  his  attention,  assuring  him 
that  on  the  next  day  he  and  his  men  would  leave  their  fire 
arms  on  the  ships,  trusting  to  Powhatan's  promise  that  no 
harm  should  come  to  them. 

Powhatan  was  too  clever  to  be  fooled  by  any  such  de 
lightful  promise;  he  knew  the  quick-witted  Captain  was 
probably  playing  the  same  game  that  he  was,  and  feared 
lest  the  white  man  should  be  quicker  than  he  at  it.  He 
3  19 


TEN  AMERICAN  GIRLS  FROM  HISTORY 

slyly  whispered  a  command  to  a  young  warrior,  and  at  a 
sign  from  him  two  gaily  decorated  squaws  darted  forward 
and,  squatting  at  the  feet  of  the  Captain,  began  to  sing 
tribal  songs  to  the  beating  of  drums  and  shaking  of  rattles, 
and  while  they  sang  Powhatan  silently  drew  his  fur  robe 
about  him  and  stole  away  to  a  forest  retreat  long  prepared 
for  an  hour  of  danger.  Before  him  went  a  supply  of  pro 
visions,  and  with  him  some  women  and  children,  but  not 
Pocahontas.  Meeting  her  father  in  his  hasty  flight,  she 
listened  to  his  request  that  she  go  with  him,  but  with 
a  laughing  gesture  of  refusal  she  fled  through  the  woods 
to  the  place  where  the  white  men  were  grouped.  The 
old  Chief's  power  over  his  daughter  had  been  greatly 
weakened  by  the  coming  of  the  colonists  to  Jamestown, 
and  who  knows  what  a  fire  of  envy  that  may  have  kindled 
in  his  heart? 

As  soon  as  the  Emperor  reached  his  hiding-place,  he  sent 
an  old  Sachem  in  war  paint  and  feathers  back  to  Captain 
Smith,  bearing  a  valuable  bracelet  as  an  offering,  and  say 
ing  that  his  chief  had  fled  because  he  feared  the  white  man's 
weapons,  but  if  they  could  be  laid  aside,  he,  Powhatan, 
would  return  to  give  the  colonists  an  abundance  of  corn. 
Captain  Smith,  with  arms  folded  and  flashing  eyes,  refused 
the  bracelet  and  the  request,  and  the  Sachem  went  back  to 
carry  the  news  to  Powhatan. 

Pocahontas  had  watched  the  interview  with  breathless 
interest,  and  when  she  saw  the  old  warrior  turn  away,  and 
knew  that  Captain  Smith  had  foiled  her  father's  intent, 
she  knew  that  the  brave  Caucarouse  was  in  great  danger. 
That  night,  while  all  the  Englishmen  except  their  leader 
were  out  hunting,  the  Captain  sat  alone  in  his  wigwam 
musing  on  ways  and  means  to  gain  his  end.  There  was  a 
sound  in  the  still  forest — a  crackling  of  underbrush — he 
roused  at  a  light  touch  on  his  arm.  Pocahontas  stood  by 

20 


POCAHONTAS 

his  side,  alone  in  the  darkness;    swiftly  she  whispered  her 
message  and  he  understood  its  gravity  only  too  well. 

"My  father  is  going  to  send  you  food,  and,  if  you  eat  it, 
you  will  die,"  she  said.  "It  is  not  safe  for  you  to  stay  here 
any  longer.  Oh,  go!  I  beg  you,  go!" 

She  was  shivering  in  her  fear  for  his  safety,  and  the  Cap 
tain  was  deeply  moved  by  her  emotion.  Raising  her  hand 
to  his  lips  in  his  wonted  fashion,  he  thanked  her  and  offered 
her  the  choicest  beads  in  his  store  for  a  remembrance,  but 
she  would  not  accept  them! 

"He  would  want  to  know  where  I  got  them,  and  then  he 
would  kill  me,  too,"  she  said,  and  vanished  as  silently  and 
swiftly  as  she  had  come. 

As  she  had  reported,  soon  there  came  warriors  from  Pow- 
hatan  bearing  huge  vessels  rilled  with  food,  smoking  hot. 
The  Chief  had  returned  to  Werewocomoco,  they  said,  and 
wished  to  show  his  good-will  to  the  white  men.  Would 
they  partake  of  a  feast  which  he  had  sent? 

They  set  down  their  burden  of  tempting  food,  and  the 
Captain's  eyes  gleamed;  with  a  profound  bow  he  thanked 
Powhatan  for  his  courtesy,  but  he  said: 

"When  we  English  make  a  feast  for  any  one,  we  ourselves 
first  taste  each  dish  before  we  offer  it  to  our  guests.  If  you 
would  have  me  eat  what  you  have  brought,  you  must  first 
taste  of  each  dish  yourselves." 

His  manner  was  defiant  as  he  stood  waiting  for  them 
to  accept  his  challenge,  and,  seeing  they  made  no  move 
to  touch  what  they  had  brought,  he  said,  still  more  de 
fiantly: 

"Tell  your  Chief  to  come  on  and  attack  us.  We  are 
ready  for  you!" 

So  soldierly  was  he,  that  the  frightened  Indians  turned 
and  fled,  while  the  colonists  hastily  threw  away  the  food 
Powhatan  had  sent.  The  old  ruler  had  again  been  check- 


21 


TEN  AMERICAN  GIRLS   FROM  HISTORY 

mated  by  his  daughter's  loyalty  to  the  white  men  and  the 
Captain's   courage. 

Early  the  next  morning,  when  the  tide  was  right,  the 
white  men  were  able  to  leave  Werewocomoco,  and  all  on 
board  the  barges  drew  sighs  of  relief  as  they  sailed  away 
from  the  Emperor's  stronghold. 

While  they  had  been  absent  from  Jamestown  a  party 
had  set  out  for  a  neighboring  island,  but  a  great  storm  hav 
ing  come  up,  their  boat  had  been  swamped  and  all  on  board 
drowned.  As  they  were  the  men  who  had  been  left  in 
charge  of  the  colony  during  Smith's  absence,  it  was  necessary 
to  send  him  word  immediately,  and  one  of  the  survivors, 
Richard  Wyffin,  was  sent  on  the  errand.  When  he  arrived 
at  Werewocomoco  the  colonists  had  left,  and  Powhatan  was 
in  a  sullen  fury  against  them  for  having  outwitted  him. 
WyfHn's  life  was  in  danger,  and  he  must  escape  as  quickly 
as  possible.  Pocahontas  hurried  to  his  rescue  and  at  a 
moment  when  there  were  no  Indians  to  see,  she  took  him 
to  a  forest  hiding-place  where  he  could  safely  spend  the 
night.  Later,  under  cover  of  the  darkness,  she  crept  to 
the  spot,  awakened  him  and  led  him  to  the  edge  of  the 
woods,  directing  him  to  take  the  opposite  trail  from  that 
on  which  her  father's  braves  were  watching  to  capture  him. 
And  so  he  escaped  and  joined  the  other  colonists  at  Pamun- 
key,  where  they  had  gone  from  Werewocomoco,  Captain 
Smith  being  determined  either  to  get  corn  from  Opechan- 
canough  or  to  burn  his  storehouses,  for  he,  like  Powhatan, 
had  promised  to  trade  with  the  white  men.  But  he  proved 
treacherous,  too,  and  Captain  Smith,  exasperated  and  des 
perate,  sprang  on  him  and  "in  a  fierce  encounter  nearly 
knocked  the  breath  out  of  his  huge  body,  then  jammed  him  up 
against  the  wall,  placed  the  muzzle  of  his  gun  at  his  breast, 
and,  seizing  him  by  his  scalp-lock,  dragged  him  out  into  full 
view  of  his  assembled  subjects  and  gave  him  the  alternative— 

22 


POCAHONTAS 

"'Your  corn  or  your  life!' 

"Under  the  circumstances  Opechancanough  promptly  de 
cided  to  give  the  corn,  and  with  a  ship  full  of  the  much- 
needed  provisions  the  settlers  sailed  triumphantly  back  to 
Jamestown." 

When  this  was  reported  to  Powhatan  it  greatly  increased 
his  respect  for  the  pale-faced  Cauc arouse,  but  he  was  still 
enraged  at  the  failure  of  his  plan  to  kill  him,  and  he  com 
manded  his  warriors  to  capture  him  as  soon  as  possible; 
but  meanwhile  events  occurred  which  worked  for  the  Cap 
tain's  good.  A  Chickahominy  Indian  had  stolen  various 
articles  from  the  settlers,  among  them  a  pistol.  He  escaped, 
but  his  two  brothers,  who  were  known  to  be  his  accomplices, 
were  captured  and  one  held  in  the  Jamestown  fort,  while 
the  other  was  told  to  go  for  the  pistol,  and  if  he  did  not 
return  with  it  in  twelve  hours  his  brother  would  be  hung. 
Away  went  the  Indian — while  the  Captain  took  pity  on  the 
poor  naked  wretch  imprisoned  in  the  cold  cell  and  sent 
him  some  food  and  charcoal  for  a  fire — the  fumes  from 
which  suffocated  him.  When  his  brother  came  back  with 
the  pistol  he  lay  senseless  on  the  ground.  Captain  Smith  at 
once  hurried  to  the  spot  and  worked  so  hard  to  revive  him 
that  he  recovered,  and  the  next  morning  was  well  enough 
to  leave  the  fort  with  his  brother,  both  of  them  having  been 
given  substantial  presents  of  copper.  The  story  was  told 
among  the  tribe  as  a  miracle,  and  the  belief  became  current 
that  to  his  other  virtues  the  brave  Captain  added  that  of 
being  able  to  raise  men  from  the  dead.  Then  one  of  Pow- 
hatan's  warriors  secretly  secured  a  bag  of  gunpowder  and 
pretended  that  he  could  use  it  as  the  English  did.  His 
dusky  comrades  crowded  around  to  watch  him  manage  the 
strange  article,  but  in  some  way  it  caught  fire,  and  blew 
him,  with  one  or  two  more,  to  death.  This  happening  so 
awed  and  terrified  those  Indians  who  saw  the  accident  that 

23 


TEN  AMERICAN  GIRLS   FROM  HISTORY 

they  began  to  be  superstitious  about  the  knowledge  of  the 
settlers,  who  could  make  such  powerful  things  obey  their 
will.  It  was  better  to  be  a  friend  than  foe  of  the  white 
man,  so  even  Powhatan  concluded,  and  warriors  from  all 
the  neighboring  tribes  came  to  Jamestown  bringing  presents, 
also  stolen  articles,  and  begging  for  friendly  relations  instead 
of  attempting  to  capture  Captain  Smith. 

Then  came  an  event  which  forever  changed  the  life  of 
Pocahontas,  the  Captain's  staunch  admirer.  He,  after  hav 
ing  adventured  up  the  James  River  to  visit  a  struggling 
colony  there,  was  sailing  down  the  river  feeling  weary  and 
discouraged,  as  he  had  many  enemies  working  against  him 
at  Jamestown,  and  was  so  disheartened  that  he  determined 
to  leave  Virginia  forever.  As  he  lay  musing  "and  trying 
to  sleep  in  the  stern  of  the  ship,  a  bag  of  gunpowder  ex 
ploded,  wounding  him  so  badly  that  he  leaped  into  the 
water  to  cool  the  burning  agony  of  his  flesh.  He  was 
rescued  and  the  ship  sailed  for  Jamestown  with  all  possible 
haste.  His  wounds  were  dressed,  but  he  was  in  a  dangerous 
condition  and  there  was  no  skilled  surgeon  to  care  for  him, 
so  his  plight  was  pitiable.  An  Indian  carried  the  sad  news 
to  Pocahontas,  who  at  once  deserted  her  comrades  for  soli 
tary  brooding  in  the  forest.  Then  she  took  the  long  wood 
trail  to  Jamestown.  Hours  later  one  of  the  settlers  found 
her  standing  outside  the  stockade,  peering  through  the 
cracks  between  the  logs  as  though  it  were  some  comfort 
to  see  into  the  village  where  her  Captain  lay — that  Captain 
who  held  her  heart  in  his  keeping.  She  would  have  stood 
there  less  quietly  had  she  known  that  an  enemy  of  his  had 
stolen  into  his  cabin  and  at  that  very  moment  was  holding 
a  pistol  to  the  wounded  man's  bosom,  trying  to  nerve  him 
self  to  do  a  deed  he  had  been  bribed  to  do!  But  his 
courage  failed,  his  hand  dropped,  and  he  crept  out  into  the 
silent  night,  leaving  the  wounded  man  unharmed.  While 

24 


POCAHONTAS 

Pocahontas  stood  on  tiptoe  outside  the  stockade,  strain 
ing  her  eager  eyes  for  a  glimpse  of  the  Captain's  cabin, 
there  were  footsteps  beside  her — a  hand  was  laid  on  her 
shoulder,  and  a  voice  asked: 

"Why  are  you  here  at  such  an  hour,  Pocahontas ?" 

It  was  one  of  the  colonists  who  was  Captain  Smith's 
loyal  friend.  Pocahontas  turned  to  him,  gripping  her  slender 
hands  together  in  an  agony  of  appeal. 

"He  is  not  dead?"  she  asked.  The  man  shook  his  head 
and  a  glad  light  flashed  into  the  girl's  eyes. 

"He  has  many  enemies,"  she  said.  "Can  you  do  nothing 
to  nurse  him  back  to  health?" 

Tears  stood  in  her  black  eyes,  and  her  appeal  would  have 
softened  a  heart  less  interested  in  the  Captain's  welfare 
than  was  her  hearer's.  Promising  to  watch  over  the  brave 
Captain  and  care  for  him  as  his  own  kin,  the  white  man 
soothed  and  comforted  Pocahontas,  and  at  last  induced 
her  to  leave  her  place  at  the  fort  and  go  back  to  Werewo- 
comoco,  and  never  did  the  Captain  know  of  her  long  vigil 
for  his  sake  that  night. 

Reaching  the  Indian  village  without  her  absence  having 
been  discovered,  she  went  about  her  daily  routine  of  work 
and  play  as  if  nothing  had  happened,  but  every  sound  in 
the  still  forest  caused  her  heart  to  beat  fast,  and  she  was 
always  listening  for  an  approaching  footstep  bringing  news 
of  her  beloved.  Then  a  warrior  brought  the  tidings — Cap 
tain  Smith  was  dead.  Dead!  She  could  not,  would  not 
believe  it!  Dead!  He  who  was  so  full  of  life  and  vigor 
was  not  dead — that  was  too  absurd.  And  yet  even  as  she 
reasoned  with  herself,  she  accepted  the  fact  without  ques 
tion  with  the  immobility  of  her  race;  and  no  one  guessed 
the  depth  of  her  wound,  even  though  all  the  tribe,  had 
known  of  her  devotion  to  the  pale-faced  Caucarouse  whose 
life  she  had  saved. 


TEN  AMERICAN  GIRLS   FROM   HISTORY 

From  that  day  she  went  no  more  to  Jamestown,  nor 
asked  for  news  of  the  settlers,  and  soon  the  gay  voice  and 
the  laughing  eyes  of  the  "little  romp"  were  missing,  too, 
from  Werewocomoco.  Pocahontas  could  not  bear  the  sights 
and  sounds  of  that  village  whose  every  tree  and  trail  was 
dear  to  her  because  of  its  association  with  her  Captain. 
She  had  relatives  among  the  Potomacks,  and  to  them  she 
went  for  a  long  visit,  where  in  different  surroundings  she 
could  more  easily  bear  the  loneliness  which  overpowered 
her,  child  of  a  savage  and  unemotional  race  though  she 
was.  It  may  have  been  also  that  Powhatan  was  beginning 
to  distrust  her  friendship  with  the  white  men.  At  all  events, 
she,  who  was  fast  blossoming  into  the  most  perfect  woman 
hood  of  her  race,  remained  away  from  home  for  many 
months.  Had  she  dreamed  that  Captain  Smith  was  not 
dead,  but  had  sailed  for  England  that  he  might  have  proper 
care  for  his  injury,  and  also  because  of  the  increasing  enmity 
against  him  in  the  colony,  she  would  have  gone  about  her 
work  and  play  with  a  lighter  heart.  But  she  thought  him 
dead,  and  in  the  mystic  faith  of  her  people  saw  him  living 
in  every  tree  and  cloud  and  blossoming  thing. 

Powhatan  had  respected  Captain  Smith,  but  for  the  white 
men  as  a  race  he  had  more  enmity  than  liking,  and  now  he 
and  his  neighbors,  the  Chickahominies,  again  refused  to 
send  any  provisions  to  Jamestown,  and  again  the  colonists 
faced  a  famine.  Captain  Argall,  in  command  of  an  English 
ship,  suggested  once  more  going  to  Werewocomoco  to  force 
Powhatan  into  giving  them  corn,  and  soon  sailed  up  the 
Potomac  toward  the  Indian  village.  One  night  on  the 
way  up,  while  the  ship  lay  at  anchor  near  shore,  an  Indian 
came  aboard  with  the  news  that  the  Emperor's  dearest 
daughter,  Pocahontas,  was  staying  among  the  Potomacks 
visiting  a  chief  named  Japazaws.  The  unscrupulous  Cap 
tain  had  an  idea.  If  he  could  capture  Pocahontas  and  hold 

26 


POCAHONTAS 

her  for  a  ransom  he  would  surely  be  able  to  gain  anything 
he  demanded  from  Powhatan.  No  thought  of  the  kindness 
and  loyalty  of  the  Indian  maiden  to  the  white  man  inter 
fered  with  his  scheming.  Corn  he  must  have,  and  here 
was  a  way  to  obtain  it.  He  quickly  arranged  with  the  In 
dian  for  an  interview  with  the  Chief  Japazaws,  who  proved 
to  be  quite  as  unscrupulous  as  Captain  Argall,  and  for  a  cop 
per  kettle  promised  to  deliver  Pocahontas  into  the  Cap 
tain's  hands — in  fact,  to  bring  her  aboard  his  vessel  on  the 
following  day. 

Having  taken  his  wife  into  his  confidence,  Japazaws  told 
her  in  the  presence  of  Pocahontas  that  the  white  Captain 
had  invited  her  to  visit  his  ship.  She  retorted  that  she 
would  like  to  accept,  but  would  not  go  unless  Pocahontas 
would  go  too.  Japazaws  pretended  to  be  very  angry  at 
this : — 

"I  wish  you  to  go,"  he  exclaimed;  "if  you  do  not  accept 
I  will  beat  you  until  you  do." 

But  the  squaw  was  firm. 

"I  will  not  go  without  Pocahontas,"  she  declared. 

Pocahontas  was  very  kind-hearted,  as  the  chief  and  his 
wife  knew,  so  at  once  she  said: 

"Stop  beating  her;  I  will  do  as  she  wishes!" 

Captain  Argall  gave  them  a  cordial  greeting  and  had  a 
lavish  feast  prepared  in  their  honor,  and  while  they  were 
talking  together  he  asked  Pocahontas  if  she  would  not  like 
to  see  the  gun-room.  She  assented,  entirely  unsuspicious 
of  any  treachery,  and  was  horrified  when  she  heard  the  door 
fastened  behind  her,  and  knew  that  for  some  reason  she  was  a 
prisoner.  Terror-stricken, — brave  girl  though  she  was, — she 
pounded  violently  on  the  door  and  cried  as  she  had  never 
cried  before  in  all  her  care-free  life,  begging  "Let  me  out!" 
but  in  vain.  She  could  hear  Japazaws  and  his  wife  weeping 
even  more  violently  than  she  on  the  other  side  of  the  door, 

27 


TEN  AMERICAN  GIRLS  FROM  HISTORY 

and  begging  for  her  release,  but  it  was  only  a  pretense.  The 
door  remained  locked,  and  as  soon  as  the  couple  were  given 
the  copper  kettle  and  a  few  trinkets,  they  left  the  ship 
contentedly.  After  that  there  was  an  ominous  silence  on 
the  vessel,  except  for  the  sobbing  of  the  Indian  girl,  who 
was  still  more  frightened  as  she  felt  the  motion  of  the  ship 
and  knew  they  were  getting  under  way. 

But  as  they  sailed  down  the  river  to  Jamestown,  the 
captain  unlocked  the  door  and  the  girl  was  allowed  to 
come  out  of  her  prison.  She  faced  him  with  a  passionate 
question: 

"What  wrong  have  I  done  that  I  should  be  so  treated — 
I  who  have  been  always  the  loyal  friend  of  the  English?" 

So  noble  was  she  in  her  youth  and  innocence,  that  the 
captain  was  horrified  at  the  deed  he  had  done  and  could  do 
no  less  than  tell  her  the  truth.  He  assured  her  that  she  had 
done  no  wrong,  that  he  well  knew  that  she  was  the  white 
man's  friend,  and  that  no  harm  should  befall  her,  but  that 
it  was  necessary  to  take  firm  measures  to  secure  provisions 
for  the  starving  colonists.  Hearing  this,  she  was  less 
frightened  and  became  quiet,  if  not  in  spirit,  at  least  in  man 
ner,  giving  no  cause  for  trouble  as  they  entered  the  harbor. 
But  her  heart  was  filled  with  sadness  when  she  again  saw 
that  fort  to  which  she  had  so  often  gone  with  aid  for  her 
vanished  friend  whose  name  now  never  passed  her  lips. 

Indian  girls  mature  rapidly,  and  the  maiden  who  had  first 
attracted  Captain  Smith's  attention  was  no  less  lovely  now, 
but  she  was  in  the  full  flower  of  womanliness  and  her  charm 
and  dignity  of  carriage  compelled  respect  from  all. 

Powhatan  was  in  his  Place  of  Council  when  a  messenger 
from  Jamestown  demanded  audience  with  him  and  gave 
his  message  in  quick,  jerky  sentences: 

"Your  daughter  Pocahontas  has  been  taken  captive  by 
the  Englishmen,"  he  said.  "She  will  be  held  until  you  send 

28 


POCAHONTAS 

back  to  Jamestown  all  t^e  guns,  tools,  and  men  stolen  from 
them  by  your  warriors." 

The  old  chief,  terrified,  grief-stricken,  and  in  a  dilemma, 
knew  not  what  to  say,  for  though  he  loved  his  daughter, 
he  was  determined  to  keep  the  firearms  taken  from  the 
English.  For  a  long  time  he  was  deep  in  thought.  Finally 
he  replied: 

"The  white  men  will  not  harm  my  child,  who  was  their 
very  good  friend.  They  know  my  wrath  will  fall  on  them 
if  they  harm  a  hair  of  her  head.  Let  her  remain  with  them 
until  I  shall  have  made  my  decision." 

Not  another  word  would  he  say,  but  strode  out  from  the 
Council  Hall  and  was  lost  in  the  forest. 

Three  months  went  by  without  the  Englishmen  receiving 
a  word  from  him,  and  Pocahontas  meanwhile  became  their 
inspiration  and  joy,  giving  no  sign  that  she  feared  her  cap 
tors  or  objected  to  her  captivity.  Then  Powhatan  sent 
seven  white  men  who  had  been  held  by  the  Indians  to  the 
settlement,  carrying  a  gun  which  had  been  spoiled  for  use. 
Their  leader  brought  this  message  from  the  Indian  Emperor: 

"If  you  will  send  back  my  daughter  I  will  send  you  five 
hundred  bushels  of  corn  and  be  your  friend  forever.  I  have 
no  more  guns  to  return,  as  the  remainder  have  been  lost." 

Prompt  was  the  retort: 

"Tell  your  Chief  that  his  daughter  will  not  be  restored 
to  him  until  our  demand  has  been  complied  with.  We  do 
not  believe  that  the  guns  have  been  lost." 

The  runner  took  back  the  message,  and  again  nothing 
more  was  heard  from  Powhatan  for  several  months,  during 
which  time  the  colonists  became  so  deeply  attached  to  the 
young  captive  that  they  dreaded  to  think  of  the  settlement 
without  her  cheery  presence.  Especially  did  John  Rolfe,  a 
young  widower,  who  was  by  report  "an  English  gentleman 
of  approved  behavior  and  honest  carriage,"  feel  a  special 

29 


TEN  AMERICAN  GIRLS  FROM  HISTORY 

interest  in  the  charming  young  savage;  in  fact  he  fell  in 
love  with  her,  but  felt  that  he  must  convert  her  to  the 
Christian  religion  before  asking  her  to  become  his  wife. 
So  he  devoted  much  time  to  instructing  her  in  the  doctrines 
of  the  white  man's  faith.  Pocahontas  accepted  the  new 
religion  eagerly,  and  little  did  John  Rolfe  guess  that  to 
her  it  was  the  religion  of  Captain  John  Smith, — a  new  tie 
binding  her  to  the  man  who  she  believed  had  gone  forever 
beyond  her  sight,  but  who  would  be  forever  dearest  to 
her  loyal  heart,  untutored  girl  of  the  forest  though  she  was. 
It  is  doubtful,  too,  whether  John  Rolfe  would  ever  have 
made  any  headway  in  her  affection  had  she  not  believed  her 
beloved  Captain  to  be  dead.  However  that  may  have 
been,  she  became  a  convert  to  Christianity,  and  John  Rolfe 
asked  her  to  marry  him. 

When  almost  a  year  had  gone  by  with  no  word  from 
Powhatan,  the  colonists  were  very  angry  and  decided  to 
force  the  issue.  A  party  in  command  of  Sir  Thomas  Dale, 
who  had  come  from  England  to  be  the  leader  of  the  James 
town  settlement,  sailed  for  Werewocomoco,  taking  Poca 
hontas  with  them,  hoping  that  when  Powhatan  heard  of 
the  presence  of  his  dearest  daughter  at  his  very  door  he 
would  relent  and  yield  to  their  demands. 

But  Powhatan  was  not  at  Werewocomoco.  Anticipating 
just  such  a  visit,  he  was  in  a  safe  retreat,  and  his  warriors 
who  thronged  to  the  river  bank  to  meet  the  white  men  at 
once  attacked  them,  and  there  was  lively  skirmishing  until 
two  brothers  of  Pocahontas  heard  of  her  arrival.  Hurry 
ing  to  the  river  bank,  they  quelled  the  turmoil  and  hastily 
paddled  out  to  the  ship,  where  they  were  soon  standing 
beside  their  sister,  seeing  with  joy  that  despite  her  captivity 
she  was  well  and  happy,  with  the  same  merry  light  in  her 
black  eyes  as  she  had  in  her  forest  days.  Their  feeling 
deepened  into  awe  when  with  downcast  eyes  and  flushed 

30 


POCAHONTAS 

cheeks  she  told  them  of  John  Rolfe's  love  for  her  and  of  her 
attachment  for  him.  Their  sister  girl  of  the  forest,  kin  of 
the  red  men, — going  to  marry  an  Englishman  from  that  mar 
velous  land  across  the  sea,  of  which  one  of  their  tribe  who 
had  visited  it  had  brought  back  the  report:  "Count  the 
stars  in  the  sky,  the  leaves  on  the  trees,  and  the  sand  upon 
the  seashore — such  is  the  number  of  the  people  of  England!" 
Pocahontas,  their  little  sister,  going  to  marry  an  English 
man! — the  stalwart  Indian  boys  could  scarcely  believe  the 
tale,  and  on  leaving  the  ship  they  hurried  to  their  father's 
forest  retreat  to  tell  their  wondrous  tale.  The  old  Chief 
listened  with  inscrutable  reserve,  but  his  eyes  gleamed  with 
exultation  and  in  his  heart  he  rejoiced.  His  daughter,  child 
of  an  Indian  Werowance,  to  become  wife  of  a  white  man, — 
the  two  races  to  be  united  ?  Surely  this  would  be  a  greater 
advantage  than  all  the  firearms  that  could  be  bought  or 
stolen ! 

But  if  he  expected  that  the  breach  between  the  white 
men  and  the  red  would  be  at  once  healed,  he  was  mistaken. 
Although  Pocahontas  greeted  her  brothers  so  cordially,  she 
would  have  nothing  to  do  with  her  father  or  any  of  his 
braves,  and  when  Powhatan  desired  to  see  her  she  sent 
back  the  imperious  message: 

"Tell  him  if  he  had  loved  his  daughter  he  would  not 
have  valued  her  less  than  old  swords,  pieces,  and  axes; 

wherefore  will  I  still  dwell  with  the  Englishmen  who  love 

P> 
me! 

And  back  to  Jamestown  she  presently  sailed  with  those 
men  of  the  race  to  which  she  had  been  loyal  even  in  her 
captivity. 

That  Powhatan  did  not  resent  her  refusal  to  see  him 
after  his  long  silence,  but  probably  admired  her  for  her  deter 
mination,  was  soon  shown.  Ten  days  after  the  party 
reached  Jamestown  an  Indian  warrior,  Opachisco,  uncle  of 


TEN  AMERICAN  GIRLS   FROM  HISTORY 

Pocahontas,  and  two  of  her  brothers,  arrived  there,  sent 
by  Powhatan  to  show  his  approval  of  his  daughter's  alliance 
with  an  Englishman,  although  nothing  would  have  induced 
him  to  visit  the  white  man's  settlement  himself,  even  to 
witness  the  marriage  of  his  dearest  daughter. 

Having  become  a  convert  to  the  white  man's  faith,  Poca 
hontas  was  baptized  according  to  the  ritual  of  the  Christian 
church,  taking  the  name  of  Rebecca,  and  as  she  was  the 
daughter  of  an  Emperor,  she  was  afterwards  called  "Lady 
Rebecca";  but  to  those  who  had  known  her  in  childhood 
she  would  ever  be  Pocahontas,  the  "little  romp." 

And  now  the  Indian  maiden,  who  by  her  loyalty  to  the 
white  race  had  changed  the  course  of  her  life,  was  about  to 
merge  her  identity  in  that  of  the  colonists: — 

"On  a  balmy  April  day,  with  sunshine  streaming  through 
the  open  windows  of  the  Jamestown  chapel,  the  rude  place 
of  worship  was  rilled  to  overflowing  with  colonists,  all  eager 
ly  interested  in  the  wedding  of  John  Rolfe  with  the  dusky 
princess  who  was  the  first  Christian  Indian  in  Virginia." 

The  rustic  chapel  had  been  decorated  with  woodland 
blossoms,  and  its  windows  garlanded  with  vines.  Its 
columns  were  pine-trees  cut  from  the  forest,  its  rude  pews 
of  sweet-smelling  cedar,  and  its  simple  Communion  table 
covered  with  bread  made  from  wheat  grown  in  neighboring 
fields,  and  with  wine  from  the  luscious  wild  grapes  picked 
in  near-by  woods. 

There,  in  the  beauty  and  fragrance  of  the  spring  day, 
up  the  aisle  of  the  chapel  passed  the  young  Indian  bride 
on  the  arm  of  John  Rolfe,  who  looked  every  inch  an  Eng 
lish  gentleman  in  his  cavalier's  costume.  And  very  lovely 
was  the  new-made  Lady  Rebecca  in  her  gown  of  white 
muslin  with  its  richly  embroidered  over-dress  given  by  Sir 
Thomas  Dale.  Her  head-dress  of  birds'  plumage  was 
banded  across  her  forehead,  Indian  fashion,  with  a  jeweled 

32 


POCAHONTAS 

fillet,  which  also  caught  her  floating  veil,  worn  in  the  Eng 
lish  way,  which  emphasized  her  dark  beauty.  On  her  wrists 
gleamed  many  bracelets,  and  in  her  deep  eyes  was  the  look 
of  one  who  glimpses  the  future  and  fears  it  not. 

Slowly  they  advanced  up  the  aisle,  and  halted  before  the 
altar,  a  picturesque  procession;  the  grave,  dignified  English 
man,  who  now  and  again  cast  adoring  glances  at  his  girlish 
bride,  of  an  alien  forest  race;  the  old  Chief  of  a  savage 
tribe,  in  his  gay  ceremonial  trappings  and  head-dress;  the 
two  stalwart,  bronzed  young  braves,  keenly  interested  in 
this  great  event  in  their  sister's  life,  all  in  a  strange  com 
mingling  of  Old  World  and  New,  auguring  good  for  the 
future  of  both  Indians  and  colonists. 

The  minister  of  the  colony  repeated  the  simple  service, 
and  Lady  Rebecca,  in  her  pretty  but  imperfect  English, 
repeated  her  marriage  vows  and  accepted  the  wedding-ring 
of  civilized  races  as  calmly  as  if  she  had  not  been  by  birth 
a  free  forest  creature.  Then,  the  service  ended,  down  the 
aisle,  in  the  flickering  sunlight,  passed  the  procession,  and 
there  at  the  chapel  door,  surrounded  by  the  great  forest 
trees  which  had  been  her  lifelong  comrades,  and  with  the 
wide  sky  spreading  over  her  in  blue  benediction,  we  have  a 
last  glimpse  of  the  "little  romp,"  for  Pocahontas,  the  In 
dian  maiden,  had  become  Lady  Rebecca,  wife  of  John  Rolfe, 
the  Englishman. 

Three  years  later  Pocahontas,  for  so  we  still  find  it  in  our 
hearts  to  call  her,  visited  England  with  her  husband  and 
little  son  Thomas,  to  see  with  her  own  eyes  that  land  across 
the  sea  where  her  husband  had  been  brought  up,  and  of 
which  she  had  heard  such  wonderful  tales.  One  can  well 
imagine  the  wonder  of  the  girl  of  the  forest  when  she  found 
herself  out  of  sight  of  land,  on  the  uncharted  ocean  of  which 
she  had  only  skirted  the  shores  before,  and  many  a  night  she 

33 


TEN  AMERICAN  GIRLS   FROM  HISTORY 

stole  from  her  cabin  during  that  long  voyage  to  watch  the 
mysterious  sea  in  its  majestic  swell,  and  the  star-sown 
heavens,  as  the  ship  moved  slowly  on  to  its  destination. 

London,  too,  was  a  revelation  to  her  with  its  big  build 
ings,  its  surging  crowds  of  white  men,  its  marks  of  civiliza 
tion  everywhere,  and,  girl  of  the  outdoors  that  she  had  ever 
been,  her  presentation  at  Court,  with  all  that  went  before 
and  after  of  the  frivolities  and  conventionalities  of  city  life, 
must  have  been  a  still  greater  marvel  to  her.  But  the 
greatest  surprise  of  all  awaited  her.  One  day  at  a  public 
reception  a  new-comer  was  announced,  and  without  warn 
ing  she  found  herself  face  to  face  with  that  Captain  of  her 
heart's  youthful  devotion!  There  was  a  moment's  silence, 
a  strained  expression  in  the  young  wife's  dark  eyes,  then 
Captain  John  Smith  bent  over  the  hand  of  John  Rolfe's 
wife  with  the  courtly  deference  he  had  given  in  Virginian 
days  to  the  little  Indian  girl  who  was  his  loyal  friend. 

"They  told  me  you  were  dead!" 

It  was  Pocahontas  who  with  quivering  lips  broke  the 
silence,  then  without  waiting  for  a  reply  she  left  the  room 
and  was  not  seen  for  hours.  When  she  again  met  and  talked 
with  the  brave  Captain,  she  was  as  composed  as  usual, 
and  no  one  could  say  how  deeply  her  heart  was  touched  to 
see  again  the  friend  of  her  girlhood  days.  Perhaps  the  un 
expected  sight  of  him  brought  with  it  a  wave  of  home 
sickness  for  the  land  of  her  birth  and  days  of  care-free  hap 
piness,  perhaps  she  felt  a  stab  of  pain  that  the  man  to 
whom  she  had  given  so  much  had  not  sent  her  a  message 
on  leaving  the  country,  but  had  let  her  believe  the  rumor 
of  his  death — perhaps  the  heart  of  Pocahontas  was  still 
loyal  to  her  first  love,  devoted  wife  and  mother  though  she 
was.  Whatever  may  have  been  the  truth,  Lady  Rebecca 
was  proud  and  calm  in  the  presence  of  the  Captain  after 
that  first  moment,  and  had  many  conversations  with  him 

34 


POCAHONTAS 

which   increased   his    admiration   for   the   gracious    forest 
Princess,  now  a  lady  of  distinction  in  his  own  land. 

The  climate  of  England  did  not  agree  with  Pocahontas, 
her  health  failed  rapidly,  and  in  the  hope  that  a  return 
to  Virginia  would  save  her  life,  her  husband  took  passage 
for  home.  But  it  was  too  late;  after  a  sickness  of  only  a 
few  hours,  she  died,  and  John  Rolfe  was  left  without  the 
vivid  presence  which  had  been  his  blessing  and  his  joy. 

Pocahontas  was  buried  at  Gravesend  on  the  21  st  of 
March,  1617,  and  as  night  fell,  and  John  Rolfe  tossed  on  a 
bed  of  anguished  memories,  it  is  said  that  a  man  muffled  in 
a  great  cloak  stole  through  the  darkness  and  knelt  beside 
the  new-made  grave  with  bowed  head  and  clasped  hands. 

It  was  Captain  Smith  who  came  to  offer  reverent  tribute 
to  the  girl  who  had  given  him  so  much,  asking  nothing  in 
return,  a  girl  of  savage  lineage,  yet  of  noble  character  and 
great  charm,  whose  blossoming  into  the  flower  of  civiliza 
tion  had  no  parallel.  Alone  there,  in  the  somber  night,  the 
silent  figure  knelt — the  brave  Captain  of  her  loyal  devotion 
paying  tardy  homage  to  Pocahontas,  the  girl  of  the  Vir 
ginia  forest,  the  white  man's  steadfast  friend. 
4 


DOROTHY   QUINCY:    THE   GIRL   OF   COLONIAL 

DAYS    WHO    HEARD    THE    FIRST    GUN 

FIRED  FOR  INDEPENDENCE 

A  SMALL,  shapely  foot  clad  in  silken  hose  and  satin 
slipper  of  palest  gray  was  thrust  from  under  flowing 
petticoats  of  the  same  pale  shade,  as  Dorothy  Quincy  stepped 
daintily  out  of  church  on  a  Sabbath  Day  in  June  after 
attending  divine  service. 

John  Hancock,  also  coming  from  church,  noted  the  small 
foot  with  interest,  and  his  keen  eye  traveled  from  the 
slipper  to  its  owner's  lovely  face  framed  in  a  gray  bonnet, 
in  the  depths  of  which  nestled  a  bunch  of  rosebuds.  From 
that  moment  Hancock's  fate  as  a  man  was  as  surely  settled 
as  was  his  destiny  among  patriots  when  the  British  seized 
his  sloop,  the  Liberty. 

But  all  that  belongs  to  a  later  part  of  our  story,  and  we 
must  first  turn  back  the  pages  of  history  and  become  better 
acquainted  with  that  young  person  whose  slippered  foot  so 
diverted  a  man's  thoughts  from  the  sermon  he  had  heard 
preached  on  that  Lord's  Day  in  June. 

Pretty  Dorothy  was  the  youngest  daughter  of  Edmund 
Quincy,  one  of  a  long  line  of  that  same  name,  who  were 
directly  descended  from  Edmund  Quincy,  pioneer,  who 
came  to  America  in  1628.  Seven  years  later  the  town  of 
Boston  granted  him  land  in  the  town  that  was  afterward 
known  as  Braintree,  Massachusetts,  where  he  built  the 
mansion  that  became  the  home  of  succeeding  generations 

36 


DOROTHY  QUINCY 

of  Quincys,  from  whom  the  North  End  of  the  town  was 
later  named. 

As  his  father  had  been  before  him,  Dorothy's  father  was 
a  judge,  and  he  spent  a  part  of  each  year  in  his  home  on 
Summer  Street,  Boston,  pursuing  his  profession.  There  in 
the  Summer  Street  home  Dorothy  was  born  on  the  tenth 
of  May,  1747,  the  youngest  of  ten  children.  Evidently  she 
was  sent  to  school  at  an  early  age,  and  gave  promise  of  a 
quick  mind  even  then,  for  in  a  letter  written  by  Judge 
Quincy,  from  Boston  to  his  wife  in  the  country,  he  writes: 

Daughter  Dolly  looks  very  Comfortable,  and  has  gone  to  School, 
where  she  seems  to  be  very  high  in  her  Mistresses'  graces. 

But  the  happiest  memories  of  Dorothy's  childhood  and 
early  girlhood  were  not  of  Boston,  but  of  months  spent  in 
the  rambling  old  mansion  at  Quincy,  which,  although  it 
had  been  remodeled  by  her  grandfather,  yet  retained  its 
quaint  charm,  and  boasted  more  than  one  secret  passage  and 
cupboard,  as  well  as  a  "haunted  chamber"  without  which 
no  house  of  the  period  was  complete. 

There  we  find  the  child  romping  across  velvety  lawns, 
picking  posies  in  the  box-bordered  garden,  drinking  water 
crystal  clear  drawn  from  the  old  well,  and  playing  many  a 
prank  and  game  in  the  big,  roomy  home  which  housed  such 
a  lively  flock  of  young  people.  Being  the  baby  of  the 
family,  it  was  natural  that  Dorothy  should  be  a  great  pet, 
not  only  of  her  brothers  and  sisters,  but  of  their  friends, 
especially  those  young  men — some  of  whom  were  later  the 
principal  men  of  the  Province — who  were  attracted  to  the 
old  mansion  by  Judge  Quincy's  charming  daughters.  So 
persistent  was  little  Dolly's  interest  in  her  sisters'  friends, 
that  it  became  a  jest  among  them  that  he  who  would  woo 
and  win  fascinating  Esther,  sparkling  Sarah,  or  the  equally 
lovely  Elizabeth  or  Katherine  Quincy,  must  first  gain  the 

37 


TEN  AMERICAN  GIRLS  FROM  HISTORY 

good-will  of  the  little  girl  who  was  so  much  in  evidence, 
many  times  when  the  adoring  swain  would  have  preferred 
to  see  his  lady  love  alone.  Dorothy  used  to  tell  laughingly 
in  later  years  of  the  rides  she  took  on  the  shoulders  of  Jona 
than  Sewall,  who  married  Esther  Quincy,  of  the  many  small 
gifts  and  subtle  devices  used  by  other  would-be  suitors  as 
bribes  either  to  enlist  the  child's  sympathies  in  gaining  their 
end,  or  as  a  reward  for  her  absence  at  some  interesting  and 
sentimental  crisis. 

Mrs.  Quincy,  who  before  her  marriage  was  Elizabeth 
Wendall,  of  New  York,  was  in  full  sympathy  with  her  light- 
hearted,  lively  family  of  boys  and  girls.  Although  the 
household  had  for  its  deeper  inspiration  those  Christian 
principles  which  were  the  governing  factors  in  family  life 
of  the  colonists,  and  prayers  were  offered  morning  and 
night  by  the  assembled  family,  while  the  Sabbath  was 
kept  strictly  as  a  day  for  church-going  and  quiet  reflection, 
yet  the  atmosphere  of  the  home  was  one  of  hospitable 
welcome.  This  made  it  a  popular  gathering-place  not  only 
for  the  young  people  of  the  neighborhood,  but  also  for  more 
than  one  youth  who  came  from  the  town  of  Boston,  ten 
miles  away,  attracted  by  the  bevy  of  girls  in  the  old  mansion. 

Judge  Quincy  was  not  only  a  devout  Christian  and  a 
respected  member  of  the  community,  he  was  also  a  fine 
linguist.  He  was  so  well  informed  on  many  subjects  that, 
while  he  was  by  birth  and  tradition  a  Conservative,  giving 
absolute  loyalty  to  the  mother  country,  and  desirous  of  obey 
ing  her  slightest  dictate,  yet  he  was  so  much  more  broad- 
minded  than  many  of  his  party  that  he  welcomed  in  his 
home  even  those  admirers  of  his  daughters  who  were  deter 
mined  to  resist  what  they  termed  the  unjust  commands  of 
the  English  Government.  Among  these  patriots- to-be  who 
came  often  to  the  Quincy  home  was  John  Adams,  in  later 
days  the  second  President  of  the  United  States,  and  who  was 

38 


DOROTHY  QUINCY 

a  boy  of  old  Braintree  and  a  comrade  of  John  Hancock, 
whose  future  history  was  to  be  closely  linked  with  the  new 
and  independent  America.  Hancock  was,  at  the  time  of  his 
first  visit  to  the  old  Quincy  mansion,  a  brilliant  young  man, 
drawn  to  the  Judge's  home  by  an  overwhelming  desire  to 
see  more  of  pretty  Dorothy,  whose  slippered  foot  stepping 
from  the  old  meeting-house  had  roused  his  interest.  Up  to 
the  time  when  he  began  to  come  to  the  house,  little  Dorothy 
was  still  considered  a  child  by  her  brothers  and  sisters, 
her  aims  and  ambitions  were  laughed  at,  if  she  voiced 
them,  and  she  was  treated  as  the  family  pet  and  plaything 
rather  than  a  girl  rapidly  blossoming  into  very  beautiful 
womanhood. 

As  she  saw  one  after  another  of  her  sisters  become  en 
gaged  to  the  man  of  her  choice,  watched  the  happy  bustle 
of  preparation  in  the  household,  then  took  part  in  the  wed 
ding  festivities,  and  saw  the  bride  pass  out  of  the  old  man 
sion  to  become  mistress  of  a  home  of  her  own,  Dorothy  was 
quick  to  perceive  the  important  part  played  by  man  in  a 
woman's  life,  and,  young  as  she  was,  she  felt  within  herself 
that  power  of  fascination  which  was  to  be  hers  to  so  great 
a  degree  in  the  coming  years.  Dorothy  had  dark  eyes 
which  were  wells  of  feeling  when  she  was  deeply  moved, 
her  hair  was  velvet  smooth,  and  also  dark,  and  the  play  of 
feelings  grave  and  gay  which  lighted  up  her  mobile  face 
when  in  conversation  was  a  constant  charm  to  those  who 
knew  the  vivacious  girl.  When  she  first  met  John  Han 
cock  she  had  won  an  enviable  popularity  by  reason  of  her 
beauty  and  grace,  and  was  admired  and  sought  after  even 
more  than  her  sisters  had  been;  yet  no  compliments  or 
admiration  spoiled  her  sweet  naturalness  or  her  charm  of 
manner. 

In  those  days  girls  married  when  they  were  very  young, 
but  Dorothy  withstood  all  the  adoration  which  was  poured 

39 


TEN  AMERICAN  GIRLS  FROM  HISTORY 

at  her  feet  beyond  the  time  when  she  might  naturally  have 
chosen  a  husband,  because  her  standards  were  so  high  that 
not  one  of  her  admirers  came  near  to  satisfying  them.  But 
in  her  heart  there  was  an  Ideal  Man  who  had  come  to  oc 
cupy  the  first  place  in  her  affection. 

As  she  had  sat  by  her  father's  side,  night  after  night, 
listening  while  John  Adams  spoke  with  hot  enthusiasm  of 
his  friend  John  Hancock,  the  boy  of  Braintree,  now  a  rising 
young  citizen  of  Boston,  the  resolute  advocate  of  justice  for 
the  colonies,  who  stood  unflinchingly  against  the  demands 
of  the  mother  country,  where  he  thought  them  unfair, — the 
conversation  had  roused  her  enthusiasm  for  this  unknown 
hero,  until  she  silently  erected  an  altar  within  her  heart  to 
this  ideal  of  manly  virtues. 

Then  John  Hancock  came  to  the  old  mansion  to  seek  the 
girl  who  had  attracted  his  attention  on  that  Sabbath  Day 
in  June,  little  dreaming  that  in  those  conversations  which 
Dorothy  had  heard  between  her  father  and  John  Adams 
she  had  pieced  together  a  complete  biography  of  her  Hero. 
She  knew  that  in  1737,  when  the  Reverend  John  Hancock 
was  minister  of  the  First  Church  in  the  North  Precinct  of 
Braintree  (afterward  Quincy),  he  had  made  the  following 
entry  in  the  parish  register  of  births: 

JOHN  HANCOCK,  MY  SON,  JANUARY  16,  1737. 

Dorothy  also  knew  that  there  in  the  simple  parsonage 
the  minister's  son  grew  up,  and  together  with  his  brother 
and  sister  enjoyed  the  usual  life  of  a  child  in  the  country. 
When  he  was  seven  years  old  his  father  died,  leaving  very 
little  money  for  the  support  of  the  widow  and  three  children. 
Thomas  Hancock,  his  uncle,  was  at  that  time  the  richest 
merchant  in  Boston,  and  had  also  married  a  daughter  of 
a  prosperous  bookseller  who  was  heir  to  no  small  fortune 
herself.  The  couple  being  childless,  at  the  death  of  John 

40 


DOROTHY  QUINCY 

Hancock's  father  they  adopted  the  boy,  who  was  at  once 
taken  from  the  simple  parsonage  to  Thomas  Hancock's 
mansion  on  Beacon  Hill,  which  must  have  seemed  like  a 
fairy  palace  to  the  minister's  son,  as  he  "climbed  the  grand 
steps  and  entered  the  paneled  hall  with  its  broad  staircase, 
carved  balusters,  and  a  chiming  clock  surmounted  with 
carved  figures,  gilt  with  burnished  gold."  There  were  also 
portraits  of  dignitaries  on  the  walls  of  the  great  drawing- 
room,  which  were  very  impressive  in  their  lace  ruffles  and 
velvet  costumes  of  the  period,  and  many  articles  of  furniture 
of  which  the  country  boy  did  not  even  know  the  names. 

As  a  matter  of  course,  he  was  sent  to  the  Boston  Public 
Latin  School,  and  later  to  Harvard  College,  from  which  he 
graduated  on  July  17,  1754,  when  he  was  seventeen  years 
old — at  a  time  when  pretty  Dorothy  Quincy  was  a  child 
of  seven. 

From  the  time  of  his  adoption  of  his  nephew,  Thomas 
Hancock  had  determined  to  have  him  as  his  successor  in 
the  shipping  business  he  had  so  successfully  built  up,  and 
so,  fresh  from  college,  the  young  man  entered  into  the  busi 
ness  life  of  Boston,  and  as  the  adopted  son  of  a  rich  and 
influential  merchant,  was  sought  after  by  mothers  with 
marriageable  daughters,  and  by  the  daughters  themselves, 
to  whose  charms  he  was  strangely  indifferent. 

For  six  years  he  worked  faithfully  and  with  a  good  judg 
ment  that  pleased  his  uncle,  while  at  the  same  time  he  took 
part  in  the  amusements  of  the  young  people  of  Boston  who 
belonged  to  the  wealthy  class,  and  who  copied  their  diver 
sions  from  those  in  vogue  among  young  folk  in  London. 
The  brilliant  and  fine-looking  young  man  was  in  constant 
demand  for  riding,  hunting,  and  skating  parties,  or  often 
in  winter  for  a  sleigh-ride  to  some  country  tavern,  followed 
by  supper  and  a  dance;  or  in  summer  for  an  excursion  down 
the  harbor,  a  picnic  on  the  islands,  or  a  tea-party  in  the 


TEN  AMERICAN  GIRLS  FROM  HISTORY 

country  and  a  homeward  drive  by  moonlight.  Besides 
these  gaieties  there  were  frequent  musters  of  militia,  of  which 
Hancock  was  a  member,  and  he  was  very  fond  of  shooting 
and  fishing;  so  with  work  and  play  he  was  more  than  busy 
until  he  was  twenty-three  years  old.  Then  his  uncle  sent 
him  to  London  to  give  him  the  advantages  of  travel  and  of 
mingling  with  "foreign  lords  of  trade  and  finance,"  and 
also  to  gain  a  knowledge  of  business  conditions  in  England. 
And  so,  in  1760,  young  Hancock  arrived  in  London,  where 
he  found  "old  Europe  passing  into  the  modern.  Victory 
had  followed  the  English  flag  in  every  quarter  of  the  globe, 
and  a  new  nation  was  beginning  to  evolve  out  of  chaos  in 
the  American  wilderness,  which  was  at  that  time  England's 
most  valuable  dependency." 

While  he  was  in  London  George  the  Second  died,  and  his 
grandson  succeeded  to  the  throne.  The  unwonted  sight  of 
the  pomp  and  splendor  of  a  royal  funeral  was  no  slight 
event  in  the  life  of  the  young  colonist,  and  the  keen  eyes  of 
John  Hancock  lost  no  detail  of  the  imposing  ceremonial. 
He  wrote  home: 

I  am  very  busy  in  getting  myself  mourning  upon  the  Occasion  of  the 
Death  of  his  late  Majesty  King  George  the  2d,  to  which  every  person  of 
any  Note  here  Conforms,  even  to  the  deepest  Mourning.  .  .  .  Everything 
here  is  now  very  dull.  All  Plays  are  stopt  and  no  diversions  are  going 
forward,  so  that  I  am  at  a  loss  how  to  dispose  of  myself.  .  .  . 

A  later  letter  is  of  interest  as  it  shows  something  of  the 
habits  of  a  wealthy  young  man  of  the  period.  "Johnny," 
as  his  uncle  affectionately  calls  him,  writes: 

I  observe  in  your  Letter  you  mention  a  Circumstance  in  Regard  to 
my  dress.  I  hope  it  did  not  Arise  from  your  hearing  I  was  too  Extrava 
gant  that  way,  which  I  think  they  cant  Tax  me  with.  At  same  time  I  am 
not  Remarkable  for  the  Plainness  of  my  Dress,  upon  proper  Occasions 
I  dress  as  Genteel  as  anyone,  and  cant  say  I  am  without  Lace.  ...  I  find 
money  some  way  or  other  goes  very  fast,  but  I  think  I  can  Reflect  it  has 

42 


DOROTHY  QUINCY 

been  spent  with  Satisfaction,  and  to  my  own  honor.  ...  I  endeavor  to  be 
in  Character  in  all  I  do,  and  in  all  my  Expences  which  are  pretty  large  I 
have  great  Satisfaction  in  the  Reflection  of  their  being  incurred  in  Hon 
orable  Company  and  to  my  Advantage. 

Throughout  his  life  good  fortune  followed  John  Han 
cock  in  matters  small  and  great,  and  it  was  a  piece  of  char 
acteristic  good  luck  that  he  should  have  been  able  to  remain 
to  see  the  new  King's  coronation.  He  was  also  presented 
at  Court,  as  a  representative  young  colonist  of  high  social 
standing,  and  was  given  a  snuff-box  by  His  Majesty  as  a 
token  of  his  good-will  to  one  of  his  subjects  from  across 
the  sea. 

Before  leaving  for  home  he  learned  all  he  could  in  re 
gard  to  the  commercial  relations  between  England  and  her 
colonies,  and  after  hearing  the  great  orator  Pitt  make  a 
stirring  speech  against  unjust  taxation,  he  realized  how 
much  more  daring  in  word  and  act  were  some  loyal  British 
subjects  than  the  colonists  would  have  thought  possible. 
Doubtless  to  Pitt  the  young  patriot-to-be  owed  his  first  in 
spiration  to  serve  the  colonies,  though  it  bore  no  fruit  for 
many  months. 

October  of  1761  found  young  Hancock  again  in  Boston, 
and  a  year  later  he  was  taken  into  partnership  with  his 
uncle.  This  gave  him  a  still  greater  vogue  among  the 
Boston  belles  who  admired  him  for  his  strength  of  char 
acter  and  for  his  fine  appearance,  as  he  was  noted  for  being 
the  best  dressed  young  man  in  Boston  at  that  time.  It  is 
said  that  "his  taste  was  correct,  his  judgment  of  quality 
unsurpassed,  and  his  knowledge  of  fashions  in  London  aided 
by  recent  residence  there."  We  are  told  that  "a  gold-laced 
coat  of  broadcloth,  red,  blue  or  violet;  a  white-satin  waist 
coat  embroidered;  velvet  breeches,  green,  lilac  or  blue; 
white-silk  stockings  and  shoes  flashing  with  buckles  of  silver 
or  gold;  linen  trimmed  with  lace,"  made  the  prosperous  young 

43 


TEN  AMERICAN  GIRLS  FROM  HISTORY 

merchant  outshine  others  of  his  position,  "and  made  it 
appear  that  by  birth  at  least  he  belonged  to  the  wealthy 
and  fashionably  conservative  class." 

His  uncle  was  indeed  such  a  strong  Conservative  that 
he  was  unwilling  to  have  his  adopted  son  show  any  leaning 
to  the  radical  party.  But  when  on  the  first  of  August,  1764, 
Thomas  Hancock  died  of  apoplexy,  leaving  his  Beacon  Hill 
mansion  and  fifty  thousand  dollars  to  his  widow,  Lydia 
Hancock,  and  to  John  his  warehouses,  ships,  and  the  residue 
of  his  estate,  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye  the  young  man 
became  a  prominent  factor  in  the  business  world  of  the  day, 
as  the  sole  owner  of  an  extensive  export  and  import  trade. 
But  more  important  to  him  than  the  fortune  which  he  had 
inherited  was  the  knowledge  that  he  was  now  at  liberty 
to  speak  and  act  in  accordance  with  his  own  feelings  in 
regard  to  matters  about  which  his  views  were  slowly  but 
surely  changing. 

He  was  now  twenty-seven  years  old,  and  on  paying  a 
flying  visit  to  his  friend  John  Adams,  in  the  home  of  his 
early  childhood,  attended  divine  service  in  his  father's  old 
church,  and  thrilled  at  the  glimpse  he  had  of  Judge  Quincy's 
youngest  daughter,  Dorothy,  demurely  leaving  the  meeting 
house.  Dolly  was  then  seventeen  years  of  age,  and  as 
lovely  in  her  girlish  beauty  as  any  rose  that  ever  bloomed, 
and  John  Hancock's  feeling  of  interest  in  her  was  far  too 
keen  to  allow  that  glimpse  to  be  his  last. 

He  and  John  Adams  visited  the  Quincy  homestead,  and 
young  Hancock  listened  respectfully  to  the  Judge's  reminis 
cences  of  his  father;  but  at  the  same  time  he  watched  pretty 
Dorothy,  who  flitted  in  and  out  of  the  room,  giving  no  hint 
of  her  emotion  at  having  an  opportunity  to  listen  to  the 
deep  voice  and  note  the  clear-cut  features  and  brilliant  eyes 
of  the  Hero  of  her  dreams.  She  only  cast  her  eyes  down 
demurely,  glancing  from  under  her  long  lashes  now  and 

44 


DOROTHY  QUINCY 

again,  when  a  remark  was  addressed  to  her.  She  was  quick 
to  see  that  her  father,  while  as  cordial  to  his  visitor  as  good 
breeding  demanded,  yet  wished  him  to  feel  that  he  was  not 
in  sympathy  with  the  radical  views  now  openly  expressed 
by  the  young  Boston  merchant.  Judge  Quincy,  as  we  have 
seen,  was  a  broad-minded,  patriotic  man,  yet  being  by  birth 
a  staunch  Conservative,  he  felt  it  his  duty  to  show  the 
younger  generation  what  real  loyalty  to  the  mother  country 
meant,  and  that  it  did  not  include  such  rebellion  against 
her  commands  as  they  were  beginning  to  express.  How 
ever,  he  chatted  pleasantly  with  Hancock  and  his  friend 
Adams,  and  when  they  took  their  leave,  Hancock  was  in 
vited  both  to  call  on  the  family  in  Boston  and  to  return 
to  the  Quincy  homestead.  Dorothy  seconded  the  invita 
tion  with  a  momentary  lifting  of  her  eyes  to  his,  then  be 
came  demure,  but  in  the  glance  that  passed  between  them 
something  was  given  and  taken  which  was  to  last  for  all 
time,  and  to  add  its  deepest  joy  to  the  future  life  of  pretty 
Dorothy. 

It  was  certainly  love  at  first  sight  for  John  Hancock, 
and  to  the  young  girl  his  love  soon  became  the  one  worth 
while  thing  in  life. 

Not  many  months  after  that  first  visit  of  John  Hancock's 
to  Dorothy's  home,  he  paid  Judge  Quincy  a  formal  visit  in 
Boston  and  asked  for  the  hand  of  his  youngest  daughter  in 
marriage.  As  a  matter  of  course,  the  Judge  was  flattered, 
for  who  was  a  more  eligible  match  than  this  rich  and 
handsome  young  Bostonian?  On  the  other  hand,  he  was 
sorry  to  include  one  of  England's  rebellious  subjects  in  his 
family,  and  he  declared  so  plainly.  John  Hancock  was 
polite  but  positive,  as  he  was  about  everything,  and  let  it 
be  clearly  understood  that  no  objection  to  his  suit  would 
make  any  difference  in  its  final  outcome.  He  and  Dorothy 
loved  each  other — that  was  all  that  really  mattered.  He 

45 


TEN  AMERICAN  GIRLS  FROM  HISTORY 

sincerely  hoped  that  her  father  would  come  to  approve  of 
the  match,  for  he  would  ever  consider,  he  said,  Dorothy's 
happiness  before  his  own.  But  he  clearly  stated  that  he 
should  stand  by  those  words  and  deeds  of  the  radical  party 
which  he  believed  best  for  the  colonies,  despite  any  effort 
which  might  be  made  to  change  any  of  his  opinions;  also 
he  was  going  to  marry  Dorothy.  Evidently  his  determina 
tion  won  the  Judge's  consent,  and  in  giving  it  he  smothered 
his  objections,  for  there  was  no  further  opposition  to  the 
match,  and  no  courtship  ever  gave  clearer  evidence  of  an 
intense  devotion  on  both  sides  than  that  of  Hancock  and 
Dorothy,  who,  being  ten  years  younger  than  her  Hero, 
looked  up  to  him  as  to  some  great  and  superior  being  worthy 
of  her  heart's  supreme  devotion. 

Political  events  of  vital  importance  to  the  colonies  hap 
pened  in  swift  succession,  and  Dorothy's  Hancock  quickly 
took  his  place  in  the  front  rank  of  those  who  were  to  be 
the  backbone  in  the  colonies'  struggle  for  liberty,  although 
at  that  time  his  activity  against  English  injustice  was 
largely  due  to  his  wish  to  protect  his  own  business  in 
terests.  In  1765  the  Stamp  Act  was  passed,  and  John 
Hancock  openly  denounced  it  and  declared  he  would  not 
use  the  stamps. 

"I  will  not  be  made  a  slave  without  my  consent,"  he 
said.  "Not  a  man  in  England,  in  proportion  to  estate, 
pays  the  tax  that  I  do." 

And  he  stood  by  that  declaration,  becoming  generally 
recognized  as  a  man  of  ability  and  of  great  power,  on 
whom  public  duties  and  responsibilities  could  be  placed 
with  assurance  that  they  would  be  successfully  carried 
out.  While  he  was  deeply  occupied  with  colonial  affairs 
Dorothy  Quincy  was  busy  in  her  home  with  those  duties 
and  diversions  which  formed  the  greater  part  of  a  young 
woman's  daily  life  in  those  days,  but  always  in  spirit  she 

46 


DOROTHY  QUINCY 

was  with  her  lover,  and  she  thrilled  with  pride  at  each  new 
proof  of  his  fearlessness  and  growing  patriotism. 

In  September,  1768,  when  it  was  rumored  that  troops 
had  been  ordered  from  Halifax,  in  an  attempt  of  England 
to  quell  the  spirit  of  independence  rife  among  her  colonists, 
Samuel  Adams,  John  Hancock,  John  Adams,  and  James 
Otis  waited  upon  the  Governor  to  ask  if  the  report  were 
true,  and  to  request  him  to  call  a  special  meeting  of  the 
Assembly.  He  declined  to  do  it,  and  a  meeting  of  protest 
was  held  in  Faneuil  Hall,  with  representatives  from  ninety- 
six  towns  present,  at  which  meeting  it  was  resolved  that 
"they  would  peril  their  lives  and  their  fortunes  to  defend 
their  rights":  "That  money  cannot  be  granted  nor  a 
standing  army  kept  up  in  the  province  but  by  their  own  free 


consent." 


The  storm  was  gathering,  and  ominous  clouds  hung  low 
over  the  town  of  Boston  on  a  day  soon  after  the  meeting 
in  Faneuil  Hall,  when  seven  armed  vessels  from  Halifax 
brought  troops  up  the  harbor  to  a  wharf  at  which  they 
landed,  and  tramped  by  the  sullen  crowd  of  spectators  with 
colors  flying,  drums  beating — as  if  entering  a  conquered 
city.  Naturally  the  inhabitants  of  Boston  would  give  them 
no  aid  in  securing  quarters,  so  they  were  obliged  to  camp 
on  the  Common,  near  enough  to  Dorothy  Quincy's  home  on 
Summer  Street  to  annoy  her  by  the  noise  of  their  morning 
drills,  and  to  make  her  realize  in  what  peril  her  lover's  life 
would  be  if  he  became  more  active  in  public  affairs  at  this 
critical  period. 

If  any  stimulus  to  John  Hancock's  growing  patriotism 
was  needed  it  was  given  on  the  tenth  of  June,  when  one  of 
his  vessels,  a  new  sloop,  the  Liberty,  arrived  in  port  with  a 
cargo  of  Madeira  wine,  the  duty  on  which  was  much  larger 
than  on  other  wines.  "The  collector  of  the  port  was  so  in 
quisitive  about  the  cargo,  that  the  crew  locked  him  below 

47 


TEN  AMERICAN  GIRLS  FROM  HISTORY 

while  it  was  swung  ashore  and  a  false  bill  of  entry  made 
out,  after  an  evasive  manner  into  which  importers  had 
fallen  of  late.  Naturally  enough,  when  the  collector  was 
released  from  the  hold,  he  reported  the  outrage  to  the  com 
mander  of  one  of  the  ships  which  had  brought  troops  from 
Halifax,  and  he  promptly  seized  the  Liberty  and  moved  it 
under  his  ship's  guns  to  prevent  its  recapture  by  Bostoni- 
ans."  This  was  one  of  the  first  acts  of  violence  in  the  days 
preceding  the  struggle  for  Independence  in  Massachusetts. 
While  John  Hancock  was  so  fully  occupied  with  public 
matters,  he  yet  found  time  to  see  his  Dolly  frequently,  and 
her  sorrow  was  his  when  in  1769  Mrs.  Quincy  died,  and 
Dorothy,  after  having  had  her  protecting  love  and  care  for 
twenty-two  years,  was  left  motherless.  The  young  girl 
was  no  coward,  and  her  brave  acceptance  of  the  sorrow  won 
her  lover  even  more  completely  than  before,  while  his 
Aunt  Lydia,  who  had  become  deeply  attached  to  pretty 
Dorothy,  and  was  eager  to  have  her  adopted  son's  romance 
end  happily,  lavished  much  care  and  affection  on  the  girl 
and  insisted  that  she  visit  her  home  on  Beacon  Hill  fre 
quently.  Possibly,  too,  Aunt  Lydia  may  have  been  un 
easy  lest  Judge  Quincy,  left  without  the  wise  counsels  of 
his  wife,  might  insist  that  his  daughter  sever  her  connec 
tion  with  such  a  radical  as  Hancock  had  become.  In  any 
case,  after  her  mother's  death,  Dorothy  spent  much  of  her 
time  with  her  lover's  Aunt  Lydia,  and  Hancock  was  much 
envied  for  the  charms  of  his  vivacious  bride-to-be.  In  fact, 
it  has  been  said  that  "not  to  have  been  attracted  to  Dorothy 
Quincy  would  have  argued  a  heart  of  steel,"  of  which  there 
are  but  few.  To  her  lover  she  was  all  and  more  than 
woman  had  ever  been  before,  in  charm  and  grace  and 
beauty,  and  he  who  among  men  was  noted  for  his  stern 
resolve  and  unyielding  demeanor  was  as  wax  in  the  hands 
of  the  young  woman,  who  ruled  him  with  gentle  tyranny. 

48 


DOROTHY  QUINCY 

To  Dorothy  her  lover  was  handsome  and  brilliant  beyond 
even  the  Hero  of  her  girlish  dreams;  her  love  was  too  sa 
cred  for  expression,  even  to  him  who  was  its  rightful  pos 
sessor.  He  appealed  to  her  in  a  hundred  ways,  she  de 
lighted  in  his  "distinguished  presence,  his  inborn  courtesy, 
his  scrupulous  toilets";  she  adored  him  for  "his  devotion 
to  those  he  loved,  his  unusual  generosity  to  friends  and  in 
feriors,"  and  she  thrilled  at  the  thought  of  his  patriotism, 
his  rapid  advancement.  And  if,  as  has  been  said,  crowds 
were  swayed  by  his  magnetism,  what  wonder  that  it  touched 
and  captivated  Dorothy  Quincy,  the  object  of  his  heart's 
deepest  devotion? 

On  the  fifth  of  March,  1770,  British  soldiers  fired  on  a 
crowd  in  the  streets  of  Boston,  and  the  riot  that  ensued, 
in  which  the  killing  of  six  and  the  injury  to  a  half-dozen 
more,  was  dignified  by  the  name  of  a  "Massacre."  Blood 
was  now  at  boiling-point,  and  the  struggle  between  the 
mother  country  and  her  colonists  had  commenced.  Pri 
vate  meetings  were  beginning  to  be  held  for  public  action, 
and  John  Adams,  Samuel  Adams,  John  Hancock,  and 
Josiah  Quincy,  a  nephew  of  Dorothy's  father,  and  an  ardent 
believer  in  American  liberty,  were  among  the  leading  spirits 
who  took  notice  of  every  infringement  of  rights  on  the 
part  of  the  government  and  its  agents.  In  the  House  of 
Representatives  they  originated  almost  every  measure  for 
the  public  good,  and  the  people  believed  them  to  be  the 
loyal  guardians  of  their  rights  and  privileges. 

John  Hancock,  who  at  first  had  stood  out  against  taxa 
tion  without  representation  because  of  his  own  business 
interests,  now  stood  firmly  for  American  Independence  for 
the  good  of  the  majority,  with  little  left  of  the  self-seeking 
spirit  which  had  animated  his  earlier  efforts.  Occupied 
as  he  now  was  with  the  many  duties  incident  on  a  public 
life,  it  is  said  he  was  never  too  busy  to  redress  a  wrong, 

49 


TEN  AMERICAN  GIRLS  FROM  HISTORY 

and  never  unwilling  to  give  lavishly  where  there  was  need, 
and  Dorothy  Quincy  rejoiced  as  she  noted  that  many  meas 
ures  for  the  good  of  the  country  were  stamped  with  her 
lover's  name. 

On  the  very  day  of  the  so-called  "Boston  Massacre" 
Great  Britain  repealed  an  Act  recently  passed  which  had 
placed  a  heavy  duty  on  many  articles  of  import.  That 
tax  was  now  lifted  from  all  articles  except  tea,  on  which  it 
was  retained,  to  maintain  the  right  of  Parliament  to  tax 
the  colonies,  and  to  show  the  King's  determination  to  have 
his  way. 

"In  resistance  of  this  tax  the  Massachusetts  colonists  gave 
up  drinking  their  favorite  beverage  and  drank  coffee  in  its 
place.  The  King,  angry  at  this  rebellion  against  the  dic 
tates  of  Parliament,  refused  to  lift  the  tax,  and  tea  was 
shipped  to  America  as  if  there  were  no  feeling  against  its 
acceptance.  In  New  York,  Philadelphia,  and  Charleston 
mass-meetings  of  the  people  voted  that  the  agents  to  whom 
it  had  been  shipped  should  be  ordered  to  resign  their  offices. 
At  Philadelphia  the  tea-ship  was  met  and  sent  back  to 
England  without  being  allowed  to  come  to  anchor.  At 
Charleston  the  tea  was  landed,  but  as  there  was  no  one 
there  to  receive  it,  or  pay  the  duty,  it  was  thrown  into  a 
damp  cellar  and  left  there  to  spoil.  In  Boston  things  were 
managed  differently.  When  the  Dartmouth,  tea-laden,  sailed 
into  the  harbor,  the  ship,  with  two  others  which  soon  arrived 
and  anchored  near  the  Dartmouth,  was  not  allowed  to  dock." 

A  meeting  of  citizens  was  hastily  called,  and  a  resolution 
adopted  that  "tea  on  no  account  should  be  allowed  to 
land."  The  tea-ships  were  guarded  by  a  committee  of 
Boston  patriots  who  refused  to  give  permits  for  the  vessels  to 
return  to  England  with  their  cargoes.  Then  came  what  has 
been  called  Boston's  "picturesque  refusal  to  pay  the.  tax." 
As  night  fell  Samuel  Adams  rose  in  a  mass-meeting  and 


DOROTHY  QUINCY 

said,  "This  meeting  can  do  nothing  more  to  save  the 
country."  As  the  words  fell  from  his  lips  there  was  a  shout 
in  the  street  and  a  group  of  forty  men  disguised  as  "Mo 
hawks"  darted  past  the  door  and  down  to  the  wharves, 
followed  by  the  people.  Rushing  on  board  the  tea-ships, 
the  disguised  citizens  set  themselves  to  cleaning  the  vessels 
of  their  cargoes.  As  one  of  them  afterward  related:  "We 
mounted  the  ships  and  made  tea  in  a  trice.  This  done,  I 
mounted  my  team  and  went  home,  as  an  honest  man  should." 

Twilight  was  gathering  when  the  Indian  masqueraders 
began  their  work,  and  it  was  nearly  three  hours  later  when 
their  task  was  done.  Boston  Harbor  was  a  great  teapot, 
with  the  contents  of  three  hundred  and  forty-two  chests 
broken  open  and  their  contents  scattered  on  the  quiet 
water.  A  sharp  watch  was  kept  that  none  of  it  should  be 
stolen,  but  a  few  grains  were  shaken  out  of  a  shoe,  which 
may  be  seen  to-day  in  a  glass  jar  in  Memorial  Hall,  Boston. 
And  this  was  the  famous  "Boston  Tea-Party"! 

Men's  passions  were  now  aroused  to  fever  heat,  and  the 
actions  of  the  patriots  were  sharply  resented  by  the  con 
servatives  who  upheld  the  government,  while  the  radicals 
were  fighting  for  the  rights  of  the  people.  In  all  the  acts 
of  overt  rebellion  with  which  John  Hancock's  name  was 
constantly  connected  he  was  loyally  and  proudly  upheld  by 
his  Dorothy,  who,  despite  her  inborn  coquetry,  daily  became 
better  fitted  to  be  the  wife  of  a  man  such  as  John  Hancock. 

But  though  she  stood  by  him  so  bravely  in  all  his  under 
takings,  and  would  not  have  had  him  recede  one  step  from 
the  stand  he  had  taken,  yet  there  was  much  to  alarm  her. 
Because  of  his  connection  with  the  Boston  Tea-Party,  and 
other  acts  of  rebellion,  the  soldiers  of  the  crown  had  distrib 
uted  royalist  hand-bills  broadcast,  with  this  heading: 

"TO  THE  SOLDIERS  OF  HIS  MAJESTY'S  TROOPS  IN  BOSTON " 
5  5i 


TEN  AMERICAN  GIRLS  FROM  HISTORY 

There  followed  a  list  of  the  authors  of  the  rebellion,  among 
whom  were  Samuel  Adams,  John  Hancock,  and  Josiah 
Quincy.  The  hand-bill  also  announced  that  "it  was  prob 
able  that  the  King's  standard  would  soon  be  erected,"  and 
continued:  "The  friends  of  our  king  and  country  and  of 
America  hope  and  expect  it  from  you  soldiers  the  instant 
rebellion  happens,  that  you  will  put  the  above  persons  im 
mediately  to  the  sword,  destroy  their  houses  and  plunder 
their  effects.  It  is  just  they  should  be  the  first  victims  to 
the  mischiefs  they  have  brought  upon  us." 

Reason  enough  for  Hancock's  Dorothy  to  be  apprehen 
sive,  beneath  her  show  of  bravery! 

In  January,  1775,  the  patriots  made  an  effort  to  show 
that  they  were  still  loyal  subjects,  for  they  sent  a  petition 
from  the  Continental  Congress  to  the  King,  wherein  they 
asked  "but  for  peace,  liberty  and  safety,"  and  stated  that 
"your  royal  authority  over  us,  and  our  connection  with 
Great  Britain,  we  shall  always  carefully  and  zealously  en 
deavor  to  support  and  maintain." 

Despite  this  the  oppressions  increased,  and  the  persistent 
roughness  of  the  British  troops  continued  unchecked. 
In  March  an  inhabitant  of  Billerica,  Massachusetts,  was 
tarred  and  feathered  by  a  party  of  his  majesty's  soldiers. 
A  remonstrance  was  sent  to  General  Gage,  the  king's  chosen 
representative  in  the  colony,  in  which  was  this  clause: 

"We  beg,  Your  Excellency  that  the  breach,  now  too 
wide,  between  Great  Britain  and  this  province  may  not,  by 
such  brutality  of  the  troops,  still  be  increased.  ...  If  it 
continues,  we  shall  hereafter  use  a  different  style  from  that 
of  petition  and  complaint." 

In  reply  from  London  came  the  news  that  seventy-eight 
thousand  guns  and  bayonets  were  on  their  way  to  America. 
Also  came  a  report  that  orders  had  gone  out  to  arrest  John 
Hancock,  William  Otis,  and  six  other  head  men  of  Boston. 

52 


DOROTHY  QUINCY 

The  informant,  a  friend  of  Hancock's,  added:  "My  heart 
aches  for  Mr.  Hancock.  Send  off  expresses  immediately 
to  tell  him  that  they  intend  to  seize  his  estate,  and  have  his 
fineuhouse  for  General.  .  .  ." 

April  'of  1775  came,  and  the  Provincial  Congress  met  at 
Concord,  Massachusetts,  and  took  upon  itself  the  power  to 
make  and  carry  out  laws.  Immediately  General  Gage 
issued  a  proclamation  stating  that  the  Congress  was  "an 
unlawful  assembly,  tending  to  subvert  government  and  to 
lead  directly  to  sedition,  treason,  and  rebellion. 

"And  yet  even  in  the  face  of  such  an  ominous  outlook  the 
indefatigable  Massachusetts  patriots  continued  to  struggle 
for  their  ideal  of  independence.  John  Adams,  himself  a 
patriot  of  the  highest  class,  asserted  that  Samuel  Adams, 
John  Hancock,  and  James  Otis  were  the  three  most  impor 
tant  characters  of  the  day,  and  Great  Britain  knew  it. 
Certainly  all  four  men  were  feared  in  the  mother  country, 
and  Hancock's  independence  of  the  government  brought 
several  suits  against  him."  Like  those  of  his  co-workers 
for  freedom  from  tyranny,  his  nerves  were  now  strung  to 
the  highest  tension,  and  he  spent  many  a  sleepless  night 
planning  how  best  to  achieve  his  high  purposes  and  grim 
resolves,  while  his  love  for  pretty  Dorothy  was  the  one 
green  spot  in  the  arid  desert  of  colonial  strife. 

Boston  was  no  longer  a  safe  place  for  those  who  could 
change  it  for  a  more  peaceful  place  of  residence.  Judge 
Quincy,  who  had  been  keeping  a  close  watch  over  his 
own  business  affairs,  now  decided  to  leave  for  Lancaster, 
where  his  married  daughter,  Mrs.  Greenleaf,  lived.  All 
homes  were  completely  disorganized,  and  by  the  time 
the  Judge  decided  to  leave  most  of  his  friends  had  already 
gone,  taking  their  household  goods  with  them  out  of  harm's 
way.  All  social  life  was  ended,  and  it  was  indeed  a  suitable 
prelude  to  a  grim  period  of  American  history. 

53 


TEN  AMERICAN  GIRLS   FROM  HISTORY 

When  the  Judge  decided  to  take  refuge  in  Lancaster, 
the  question  was,  should  Dorothy  go,  too?  Her  lover  was 
in  Concord,  where  the  Provincial  Congress  was  in  session. 
Knowing  the  condition  of  affairs  in  Boston,  he  had  not  re 
turned  to  his  home  during  the  intermissions  of  the  session, 
finding  it  more  convenient  to  stay  in  Concord  and  spend 
his  Sundays  in  Lexington,  where  he  and  John  Adams  were 
warmly  welcomed  at  the  home  of  the  Rev.  Jonas  Clark,  a 
Hancock  cousin. 

Now,  when  Hancock  heard  of  Judge  Quincy's  plan  to 
leave  Boston  for  Lancaster,  he  wrote  immediately  to  his 
Aunt  Lydia  and  made  an  appeal  calculated  to  touch  a  much 
more  stony  heart  than  hers.  Would  she  take  his  Dolly 
under  her  protection  until  the  state  of  colonial  affairs  should 
become  more  peaceful?  Boston  was  no  place  for  a  woman 
who  could  be  out  of  it;  but  on  the  other  hand,  neither  was 
a  town  as  far  away  as  Lancaster  a  suitable  retreat  for  a  girl 
with  a  lover  who  might  get  only  occasional  glimpses  of  her 
there.  Would  his  dear  aunt  please  call  on  Judge  Quincy, 
and,  after  putting  the  matter  squarely  before  him,  try  to 
bring  his  Dolly  away  to  Lexington  with  her?  The  Rev.  Mr. 
Clark  would  welcome  them  as  warmly  as  he  and  Adams 
had  been  received,  and  give  them  a  comfortable  home  as 
long  as  necessary.  Would  his  aunt  not  do  this  for  him? 
As  a  final  appeal  he  added  that  if  General  Gage  should  carry 
out  his  intention  of  seizing  Adams  and  himself,  he  might 
have  a  few  more  chances  to  see  the  girl  he  loved. 

Aunt  Lydia  was  quick  in  her  response.  Of  course  she 
would  do  as  he  wished.  It  would  be  far  better  for  the 
motherless  girl  to  be  under  her  protection  at  this  time  than 
with  any  one  else,  and  she  could  understand  perfectly  her 
nephew's  desire  to  be  under  the  same  roof  even  for  a  brief 
time  with  his  dear  Dolly.  She  would  see  the  Judge  im 
mediately. 

54 


DOROTHY  QUINCY 

At  once  her  stately  coach  was  ordered  out,  and  soon 
it  rolled  up  before  the  Quincy  door  to  set  down  Aunt  Lydia, 
intent  on  achieving  her  end.  And  she  did.  Although  the 
Judge  was  not  altogether  pleased  with  the  idea  of  being 
separated  from  Dorothy,  he  saw  the  wisdom  of  the  plan 
and  assented  to  it.  Dorothy,  with  a  girl's  light-hearted- 
ness  at  the  prospect  of  a  change,  especially  one  which  meant 
seeing  her  lover,  hastily  packed  up  enough  clothing  for  use 
during  a  brief  visit.  Then  she  said  an  affectionate  farewell 
to  her  father,  little  dreaming  what  an  eventful  separation 
it  was  to  be,  and  rode  away  by  the  side  of  Aunt  Lydia,  who 
was  delighted  that  she  had  been  able  to  so  successfully 
manage  the  Judge,  and  that  she  was  to  have  cheerful 
Dorothy  for  a  companion  during  days  of  dark  depression. 

To  Lexington  they  went,  and  as  John  Hancock  had  pre 
dicted,  the  Rev.  Mr.  Clark  gave  them  a  cordial  welcome. 
Hancock  was  there  to  greet  them,  and  with  great  satisfac 
tion  the  elder  woman  saw  the  lovers'  rapturous  meeting,  and 
knew  that  her  diplomacy  had  brought  this  joy  to  them. 

When  the  excitement  of  the  meeting  had  somewhat  sub 
sided,  they  talked  long  and  earnestly  of  the  critical  situa 
tion,  and  Dorothy,  with  her  hand  clasped  close  in  her 
lover's,  heard  with  sudden  terror  of  a  rumor  that  General 
Gage  intended  to  seize  Adams  and  Hancock  at  the  earliest 
opportunity.  But  roses  bloomed  in  her  cheeks  again  as 
she  declared,  proudly:  "I  have  no  fear!  You  will  be 
clever  enough  to  evade  them.  No  cause  as  worthy  as  yours 
will  have  as  a  reward  for  its  champion  such  a  fate  as  to 
be  captured!" 

Seeing  her  flashing  eyes  and  courageous  thrusting  aside 
of  possibilities,  that  he  might  not  count  her  a  coward,  John 
Hancock  loved  her  better  than  before,  and  tenderly  raised 
her  hand  to  his  lips  with  a  simple:  "God  bless  you,  dear. 
I  hope  you  may  be  right!" 

55 


TEN  AMERICAN  GIRLS  FROM  HISTORY 

And  now,  in  quiet  Lexington,  Dorothy  and  Aunt  Lydia 
occupied  themselves  with  such  daily  tasks  as  they  were 
able  to  accomplish  in  the  minister's  home,  and  the  girl 
was  bewildering  in  her  varied  charms  as  John  Hancock 
saw  them  displayed  in  daily  life  during  their  brief  but 
precious  meetings.  Dorothy  enjoyed  an  occasional  letter 
from  a  cousin,  Helena  Bayard,  who  was  still  in  Boston,  and 
who  gave  lively  accounts  of  what  was  happening  there. 

As  Mrs.  Bayard  lived  in  a  boarding-house,  she  saw  many 
persons  who  knew  nothing  of  her  relatives,  and  one  day, 
after  returning  from  a  visit,  she  found  the  parlor  full  of 
boarders,  who  eagerly  asked  her  if  she  had  heard  the  news, 
She  said  she  had  not,  and  in  a  letter  to  Dorothy  later,  she 
gives  this  spicy  account  of  what  she  heard: 

I  was  told  that  Linsee  was  coming,  and  ten  thousand  troops,  which 
was  glorious  news  for  the  Congress.  Mr.  Hancock  was  next  brought  on 
the  carpet,  and  as  the  company  did  not  suspect  I  had  the  least  acquain 
tance  with  him,  I  can't  think  they  meant  to  affront  me. 

However,  as  Mr.  Hancock  has  an  elegant  house  and  well  situated,  and 
this  will  always  be  a  garrison  town,  it  will  do  exceedingly  well  for  a  fort, 
...  "I  wonder  how  Miss  .  .  .  will  stand  affected?  I  think  he  defers  marry 
ing  until  he  returns  from  England."  At  this  speech  I  saw  a  wink  given, 
and  all  was  hush ! — myself  as  hush  as  the  grave,  for  reasons.  "  Mr.  Han 
cock  has  a  number  of  horses.  Perhaps  he  would  be  glad  to  dispose  of 
them,  as  the  officers  are  buying  up  the  best  horses  in  town" — Mrs.  Bay 
ard,  don't  look  so  dull!  You  will  be  taken  the  greatest  care  of!  Thought 
I, — if  you  knew  my  heart,  you  would  have  the  most  reason  to  look  dull. 
However,  a  little  time  will  decide  that. 

I  am,  you  will  say,  wicked,  but  I  wish  the  small-pox  would  spread. 
Dolly,  I  could  swell  my  letter  into  a  balloon,  but  lest  I  should  tire  you, 
I  will  beg  my  sincere  regards  to  Mr.  Hancock,  and  beg  the  favor  of  a  line 
from  my  dear  Dolly, 

Your  affectionate  Coz 

HELENA  BAYARD. 

Dorothy's  eyes  flashed  as  she  read  this,  and  laying  it 
down  she  exclaimed:  "We  will  see  whether  the  British  come 
off  victorious  or  not !  If  I  mistake  not,  there  is  more  ability 

56 


DOROTHY  QUINCY 

in  the  finger-tip  of  John  Hancock  than  in  those  of  all  the 
generals  in  the  English  army.  You  will  be  taken  the 
greatest  care  of,  indeed —  We  shall  see  what  we  shall  see!" 
with  which  sage  remark  pretty  Dolly,  head  held  high,  walked 
out  of  the  room  and  gave  vent  to  her  feelings  in  vigorous 
exercise. 

The  issue  was  to  be  confronted  sooner  than  they  knew, 
and  it  was  peaceful  Lexington  where  the  first  alarm  of  war 
sounded. 

According  to  advice,  a  messenger  had  been  sent  to  Con 
cord  to  warn  Hancock  of  his  possible  danger,  but  neither  he 
nor  Adams  attached  much  importance  to  the  report,  after 
their  first  alarm  was  over,  and  they  were  enjoying  the  quiet 
village  life  of  Lexington  with  the  two  women  guests  at  the 
parsonage,  when  on  the  eighteenth  of  April,  General  Gage 
really  did  order  a  force  to  march  on  Concord,  not  so  much 
to  seize  the  few  military  supplies  stored  there,  as  to  capture 
the  rebellious  enemies  of  the  crown. 

Just  how  a  small  group  of  men  in  Boston,  calling  them 
selves  the  "Sons  of  Liberty,"  who  had  constituted  themselves 
a  volunteer  committee  to  watch  over  the  movements  of  the 
enemy,  knew  of  the  plan  of  the  British  to  march  to  Con 
cord,  and  on  the  way  to  arrest  Hancock  and  Samuel  Adams, 
will  never  be  known.  It  is  enough  to  know  that  they  had 
received  the  information,  and  knew  that  the  British  were 
determined  not  to  have  a  report  of  the  march  reach  the 
enemy  until  it  had  been  successfully  accomplished.  The 
question  was  how  to  carry  the  news  to  Lexington  and  Con 
cord  ahead  of  the  British  troops.  There  was  no  time  to 
waste  in  lengthy  discussions,  and  in  a  very  short  time  Paul 
Revere  was  ready  for  his  historic  ride.  The  signals  agreed 
on  before  affairs  had  reached  this  climax  were:  if  the 
British  went  out  by  water,  two  lanterns  would  be  swung  in 
the  North  Church  steeple;  if  they  went  by  land,  one  would 

57 


TEN  AMERICAN  GIRLS  FROM  HISTORY 

be  shown,  and  a  friend  of  Paul  Revere's  had  been  chosen 
as  the  man  to  set  the  signal. 

Now,  on  the  night  of  the  eighteenth  of  April,  1775?  two 
lanterns  swung  high  in  the  historic  steeple,  and  off  started 
Paul  Revere  on  the  most  famous  ride  in  American  history. 
As  Longfellow  has  so  vividly  expressed  it: 

A  hurry  of  hoofs  in  a  village  street, 

A  shape  in  the  moonlight,  a  bulk  in  the  dark, 

And  beneath,  from  the  pebbles,  in  passing,  a  spark 

Struck  out  by  a  steed  flying  fearless  and  fleet; 

That  was  all!     And  yet  through  the  gloom  and  the  light 

The  fate  of  a  nation  was  riding  that  night; 

And  the  spark  struck  out  by  that  steed,  in  his  flight, 

Kindled  the  land  into  flame  with  its  heat. 

With  clank  of  spur  and  brave  use  of  whip,  on  he  dashed, 
to  waken  the  country  and  rouse  it  to  instant  action — and 
as  he  passed  through  every  hamlet  heavy  sleepers  woke  at 
the  sound  of  his  ringing  shout: 

"The  Regulars  are  coming!" 

Then  on  clattered  horse  and  rider,  scattering  stones  and 
dirt,  as  the  horse's  hoofs  tore  into  the  ground  and  his  flanks 
were  flecked  with  foam.  Midnight  had  struck  when  the 
dripping  steed  and  his  breathless  rider  drew  up  before  the 
parsonage  where  unsuspecting  Dorothy  and  Aunt  Lydia 
were  sheltered,  as  well  as  the  two  patriots.  The  house  was 
guarded  by  eight  men  when  Paul  Revere  dashed  up  to  the 
door,  and  they  cautioned  him  not  to  make  a  noise. 

"Noise!"  exclaimed  Revere.  "You'll  have  noise  enough 
before  long.  The  Regulars  are  coming  out!" 

John  Hancock,  ever  on  the  alert  for  any  unwonted  sounds, 
heard  the  commotion  and  recognizing  Revere's  voice  opened 
a  window  and  said: 

"Courier  Revere,  we  are  not  afraid  of  you!" 

Revere  repeated  his  startling  news. 

58 


DOROTHY  QUINCY 

"Ring  the  Bell!"  commanded  Hancock.  In  a  few  mo 
ments  the  church  bell  began  to  peal,  according  to  pre 
arranged  signal,  to  call  men  of  the  town  together.  All  night 
the  tones  of  the  clanging  bell  rang  out  on  the  clear  air 
and  before  daylight  one  hundred  and  fifty  men  had  mustered 
for  defense,  strong  in  their  desire  for  resistance  and  con 
fident  of  the  justice  of  it. 

John  Hancock  was  determined  to  fight  with  the  men  who 
had  come  together  so  hurriedly  and  were  so  poorly  equipped 
for  the  combat.  With  a  firm  hand  he  cleaned  his  gun  and 
sword  and  put  his  accoutrements  in  order,  refusing  to 
listen  to  the  plea  of  Adams  that  it  was  not  their  duty  to 
fight,  that  theirs  it  was,  rather,  to  safeguard  their  lives  for 
the  sake  of  that  cause  to  which  they  were  so  important  at 
this  critical  time.  Hancock  was  deaf  to  all  appeals,  until 
Dorothy  grasped  his  hands  in  hers  and  forced  him  to  look 
into  her  eyes:— 

"I  have  lost  my  mother,"  she  said;  "to  lose  you,  too, 
would  be  more  than  I  could  bear,  unless  I  were  giving  you 
for  my  country's  good.  But  you  can  serve  best  by  living 
rather  than  by  courting  danger.  You  must  go,  and  go  now!" 

And  Hancock  went. 

Meanwhile  a  British  officer  had  been  sent  in  advance  of 
the  troops  to  inquire  for  "Clark's  parsonage."  By  mistake 
he  asked  for  Clark's  tavern,  which  news  was  brought  to 
Hancock  as  he  was  debating  whether  to  take  Dorothy's  ad 
vice  or  not.  He  waited  no  longer.  With  Adams  he  im 
mediately  took  refuge  in  a  thickly  wooded  hill  back  of  the 
parsonage.  An  hour  later  Paul  Revere  returned  to  the 
house  to  report  that  after  he  left  there,  with  two  others, 
he  had  been  captured  by  British  officers.  Having  answered 
their  questions  evasively  about  the  whereabouts  of  the 
patriots,  he  finally  said:  "Gentlemen,  you  have  missed 
your  aim;  the  bell's  ringing,  the  town's  alarmed.  You  are 

59 


TEN  AMERICAN  GIRLS  FROM  HISTORY 

all  dead  men!"  This  so  terrified  the  officers  that,  not  one 
hundred  yards  further  on,  one  of  them  mounted  Revere's 
horse  and  rode  off  at  top  speed  to  give  warning  to  the 
on-coming  troops,  while  Revere  went  back  to  report  to  Han 
cock  and  Adams. 

It  was  evidently  unsafe  for  them  to  remain  so  near  the 
scene  of  the  struggle,  and  at  daylight  they  were  ready  to 
start  for  the  home  of  the  Rev.  Mr.  Marrett  in  Woburn. 
Dorothy  and  Aunt  Lydia  were  to  remain  in  Lexington,  and 
although  they  had  kept  well  in  the  background  through  all 
the  excitement  of  the  fateful  night,  Aunt  Lydia  now  went 
down  to  the  door,  not  only  to  see  the  last  of  her  beloved 
nephew,  but  to  try  to  speak  to  some  one  who  could  give 
her  more  definite  news  of  the  seven  hundred  British  soldiers 
who  had  arrived  in  town  and  were  drawn  up  in  formidable 
array  against  the  motley  company  of  colonists.  The  Brit 
ish  officers  at  once  commanded  the  colonists  to  lay  down 
their  arms  and  disperse.  Not  a  single  man  obeyed.  All 
stood  in  silent  defiance  of  the  order.  Then  the  British  regu 
lars  poured  into  the  "minute-men"  a  fatal  volley  of  shots; 
and  about  that  time  Aunt  Lydia  descended  to  the  parson 
age  door,  and  excited  Dorothy  threw  open  her  window 
that  she  might  wave  to  her  lover  until  he  was  out  of  sight. 
As  she  drew  back,  she  saw  something  whiz  through  the  air 
past  her  aunt's  head,  striking  the  barn  door  beyond,  and 
heard  her  aunt  exclaim: 

"What  was  that?" 

It  was  a  British  bullet,  and  no  mistake!  As  Dorothy 
told  later:  "The  next  thing  I  knew,  two  men  were  being 
brought  into  the  house,  one,  whose  head  had  been  grazed 
by  a  bullet,  insisted  that  he  was  dead;  but  the  other,  who 
was  shot  in  the  arm,  behaved  better." 

Dorothy  Quincy  had  seen  the  first  shot  fired  for  inde 
pendence  ! 

60 


DOROTHY  QUINCY 

Never  was  there  a  more  gallant  resistance  of  a  large  and 
well-disciplined  enemy  force  than  that  shown  by  the  minute- 
men  on  that  day  at  Lexington,  and  when  at  last  the  British 
retreated  under  a  hot  fire  from  the  provincials  at  whom  they 
had  sneered,  they  had  lost  two  hundred  and  seventy-three, 
killed,  wounded,  and  missing,  while  the  American  force 
had  lost  only  ninety-three. 

As  soon  as  the  troops  were  marching  on  their  way  to  Con 
cord,  a  messenger  brought  Dorothy  a  penciled  note  from 
Hancock:  "Would  she  and  his  aunt  come  to  their  hiding- 
place  for  dinner,  and  would  they  bring  with  them  the  fine 
salmon  which  was  to  have  been  cooked  for  dinner  at  the 
parsonage?"  Of  course  they  would — only  too  eagerly  did 
they  make  ready  and  allow  the  messenger  to  guide  them  to 
the  patriot's  place  of  concealment.  There,  while  the  lovers 
enjoyed  a  tete-a-tete,  Adams  and  Aunt  Lydia  made  the 
feast  ready,  and  they  were  all  about  to  enjoy  it,  when  a 
man  rushed  in  crying  out  wildly: 

"The  British  are  coming!  The  British  are  coming!  My 
wife's  in  eternity  now." 

This  was  grim  news,  and  there  was  no  more  thought  of 
feasting.  Hurriedly  Mr.  Marrett  made  ready  and  took  the 
patriots  to  a  safer  hiding-place,  in  Amos  Wyman's  house  in 
Billerica.  There,  later  in  the  day,  they  satisfied  their 
appetites  as  best  they  could  with  cold  pork  and  potatoes 
in  place  of  the  princely  salmon,  while  Dorothy  and  Aunt 
Lydia,  after  eating  what  they  had  heart  to  consume  of  the 
feast,  returned  to  Parson  Clark's  home,  where  they  waited 
as  quietly  as  possible  until  the  retreat  of  the  British  troops. 
Then  Dorothy  had  the  joy  of  being  again  clasped  in  her 
lover's  arms — and  as  he  looked  questioningly  into  her  dear 
eyes,  he  could  see  lines  of  suffering  and  of  new  womanliness 
carved  on  her  face  by  the  anxiety  she  had  experienced  dur 
ing  the  last  twenty-four  hours.  Then,  at  a  moment  when 

61 


TEN  AMERICAN  GIRLS  FROM  HISTORY 

both  were  seemingly  happiest  at  being  together,  came  their 
first  lovers'  quarrel. 

When  she  had  somewhat  recovered  from  the  fear  of  not 
seeing  Hancock  again,  Dorothy  announced  that  she  was 
going  to  Boston  on  the  following  day — that  she  was  worried 
about  her  father,  who  had  not  yet  been  able  to  leave  the 
city,  that  she  must  see  him.  Hancock  listened  with  set  lips 
and  grim  determination: 

"No,  madam,"  he  said,  "you  shall  not  return  as  long  as 
there  is  a  British  bayonet  in  Boston." 

Quick  came  the  characteristic  reply:  "Recollect,  Mr. 
Hancock,  I  am  not  under  your  control  yet!  I  shall  go  to 
my  father  to-morrow." 

Her  determination  matched  his  own,  and  Hancock  saw 
no  way  to  achieve  his  end,  yet  he  had  not  thought  of  yield 
ing.  As  usual,  he  turned  to  Aunt  Lydia  for  advice.  She 
wisely  suggested  retiring,  without  settling  the  mooted  ques 
tion,  as  they  were  all  too  tired  for  sensible  reflection  on  any 
subject.  Then,  after  defiant  Dorothy  had  gone  to  her 
room,  the  older  woman  stole  to  the  girl's  bedside,  not  to 
advise, — oh  no! — merely  to  suggest  that  there  was  more 
than  one  girl  waiting  to  step  into  Dorothy's  place  should  she 
flout  the  handsome  young  patriot.  Also,  she  suggested, 
how  terrible  it  would  be  if  Hancock  should  be  killed,  or 
even  captured  while  the  girl  he  worshiped  was  away  from 
his  side!  There  was  no  reply,  and  the  older  woman  stole 
from  the  room  without  any  evidence  that  she  had  succeeded 
in  her  mission.  But  she  smiled  to  herself  the  next  morning 
when  Dorothy  announced  that  she  had  never  had  any  real 
intention  of  leaving  for  Boston,  and  gracefully  acknowl 
edged  to  an  entranced  lover  that  he  had  been  right,  after 
all! 

The  next  question  was,  where  should  the  women  take 
refuge  until  the  cloud  of  war  should  have  passed  over  suffi- 

62 


DOROTHY  QUINCY 

ciently  to  make  it  safe  for  them  to  return  to  their  homes? 
Hancock  advised  Fairfield,  Connecticut,  a  beautiful  town 
where  there  would  be  small  chance  of  any  danger  or  dis 
comfort.  His  suggestion  met  with  approval,  and  Mrs. 
Hancock  and  her  pretty  ward  at  once  set  off  for  the  Con 
necticut  town,  while  Adams  and  Hancock  journeyed  cau 
tiously  toward  Worcester,  where  they  were  to  meet  and  go 
with  other  delegates  to  the  Continental  Congress  at  Phila 
delphia.  They  were  detained  at  Worcester  three  days, 
which  gave  Hancock  a  chance  to  see  his  Dorothy  again  on 
her  way  to  the  new  place  of  refuge.  Theirs  was  a  raptur 
ous  though  a  brief  visit  together;  then  the  patriots  went  on 
toward  New  York,  and  Dorothy  and  Aunt  Lydia  proceeded 
to  Fairfield,  where  they  were  received  in  the  home  of  Mr. 
Thaddeus  Burr,  an  intimate  friend  of  the  Hancocks,  and  a 
leading  citizen,  whose  fine  colonial  house  was  a  landmark 
in  the  village. 

Judge  Quincy,  meanwhile,  had  at  last  been  able  to  take 
flight  from  Boston,  and  after  a  long,  uncomfortable  trip, 
had  arrived  at  his  daughter's  home  in  Lancaster,  where  he 
heard  that  "Daughter  Dolly  and  Hancock  had  taken  din 
ner  ten  days  before,  having  driven  over  from  Shirley  for 
the  purpose."  He  writes  to  his  son  Henry  of  this,  and  adds, 
"As  I  hear,  she  proceeded  with  Mrs.  Hancock  to  Fairfield; 
I  don't  expect  to  see  her  till  peaceable  times  are  restored." 

The  two  patriots  reached  New  York  safely,  and  Hancock 
at  once  wrote  to  Dorothy: 

N'EW  YORK,  Sabbath  Eveng,  May  7,  1775. 
MY  DEAR  DOLLY: — 

I  Arrived  well,  tho*  fatigued,  at  King's  Bridge  at  Fifty  Minute  after 
Two  o'clock  yesterday,  where  I  found  the  Delegates  of  Massachusetts 
and  Connect'  with  a  number  of  Gentlemen  from  New  York,  and  a  Guard 
of  the  Troop.  I  dined  and  then  set  out  in  the  Procession  for  New  York, 
— the  Carriage  of  your  Humble  servant  being  first  in  the  procession  (of 
course).  When  we  Arrived  within  three  Miles  of  the  City,  we  were  Met 

63 


TEN  AMERICAN  GIRLS  FROM  HISTORY 

by  the  Grenadier  Company  and  Regiment  of  the  City  Militia  under  Arms, 
— Gentlemen  in  Carriages  and  on  Horseback,  and  many  thousand  of 
Persons  on  foot,  the  roads  fill'd  with  people,  and  the  greatest  cloud  of  dust 
I  ever  saw.  In  this  Situation  we  Entered  the  City,  and  passing  thro* 
the  Principal  Streets  of  New  York  amidst  the  Acclamations  of  Thousands 
were  set  down  at  Mr.  Francis's.  After  Entering  the  House  three  Huzzas 
were  Given,  and  the  people  by  degrees  dispersed. 

When  I  got  within  a  mile  of  the  City  my  Carriage  was  stopt,  and 
Persons  appearing  with  proper  Harnesses  insisted  upon  Taking  out  my 
Horses  and  Dragging  me  into  and  through  the  City,  a  Circumstance  I 
would  not  have  Taken  place  on  any  consideration,  not  being  fond  of  such 
Parade. 

I  beg'd  and  entreated  that  they  would  suspend  the  Design,  and  they 
were  at  last  prevail'd  upon  and  I  proceeded 

After  having  Rode  so  fast  and  so  many  Miles,  you  may  well  think  I 
was  much  fatigued,  but  no  sooner  had  I  got  into  the  Room  of  the  House 
we  were  Visited  by  a  great  number  of  Gentlemen  of  the  first  Character 
of  the  City,  who  took  up  the  Evening. 

About  10  o'clock  I  Sat  down  to  Supper  of  Fried  Oysters  &,  at  n  o'clock 
went  to  Capt  Sear's  and  Lod'g.  Arose  at  5  o'clock,  went  to  the  House 
first  mentioned,  Breakfasted,  Dress'd  and  went  to  Meeting,  where  I  heard 
a  most  excellent  Sermon 

The  Grenadier  Company  of  the  City  is  to  continue  under  Arms  during 
our  stay  here  and  we  have  a  guard  of  them  at  our  Doors  Night  and  Day. 

This  is  a  sad  mortification  for  the  Tories.     Things  look  well  here 

I  beg  you  will  write  me.     Do  acquaint  me  every  Circumstance 

Relative  to  that  Dear  Aunt  of  Mine;  write  Lengthy  and  often 

People  move  slowly  out,  they  tell  me,  from  Boston 

Is  your  Father  out?     As  soon  as  you  know,  do  acquaint  me,  and  send 
me  the  letters  and  I  will  then  write  him.     Pray  let  me  hear  from  you  by 
every  post.     God  bless  you,  my  Dr.  Girl,  and  believe  me  most  Sincerely 
Yours  most  affectionately 

JOHN  HANCOCK. 

One  can  fancy  the  flutter  of  pride  in  Dorothy's  heart  at 
the  reading  of  such  honors  to  her  lover,  and  she  settled 
down  to  await  the  turn  of  events  with  a  lighter  heart,  while 
Hancock  and  Adams,  with  the  other  delegates,  went  on 
toward  Philadelphia,  their  trip  being  a  triumphal  progress 
from  start  to  finish. 

On  the  ninth  of  May  they  arrived  at  their  destination, 
and  on  the  following  day  the  Continental  Congress  met, 

64 


DOROTHY  QUINCY 

when  John  Hancock  was  unanimously  elected  President  of 
the  Congress. 

While  her  lover  was  occupied  with  matters  of  such  vital 
importance,  he  always  found  time  to  pour  out  his  hopes  and 
fears  and  doings  in  bulky  letters  which  reached  his  lady 
love  by  coach,  every  fortnight,  and  which — "  shortened  ab 
sence"  to  her  impatient  desire  for  the  one  man  in  the  world 
who  meant  all  to  her.  But  even  where  Dorothy's  heart  was 
so  seriously  engaged,  she  could  no  more  help  showering  co 
quettish  smiles  and  pretty  speeches  on  those  residents  of 
Fairfield  whom  she  came  to  know,  than  she  could  help  be 
witching  them  by  her  charm  and  beauty.  The  more  sober- 
minded  men  of  the  town  were  delighted  by  her  conversa 
tion,  which  was  sparkling,  and  by  her  keen  comment  on 
public  affairs — comment  far  beyond  the  capability  of  most 
of  her  sex  and  age,  while  it  became  the  fashion  to  pay  court 
to  vivacious  Dorothy,  but  the  moment  an  adorer  attempted 
to  express  his  sentimental  feelings  he  found  himself  check 
mated  by  a  haughty  reserve  that  commanded  admiration, 
but  forced  an  understanding  that  Mistress  Dolly  wished  no 
such  attentions. 

Of  this  John  Hancock  knew  nothing,  as  Dolly  was  the 
most  tantalizingly  discreet  of  correspondents,  and  poor 
Hancock  looked  and  longed  in  vain  for  written  evidence  of 
her  devotion,  despite  which,  however,  he  continued  to 
write  long  letters  to  her: 

In  one,  written  on  June  10,  1775,  he  says  pathetically: 

I  am  almost  prevailed  on  to  think  that  my  letters  to  my  aunt  and 
you  are  not  read,  for  I  cannot  obtain  a  reply.  I  have  asked  a  million 

questions  and  not  an  answer  to  one I  really  take  it  extremely 

unkind.     Pray,  my  dear,  use  not  so  much  ceremony  and  reservedness. 

I  want  long  letters I  beg  my  dear  Dolly,  you  will  write 

me  often  and  long  letters.  I  will  forgive  the  past  if  you  will  mend  in 
future.  Do  ask  my  aunt  to  make  me  up  and  send  me  a  watch-string, 

and  do  you  make  up  another.    I  want  something  of  your  doing 

65 


TEN  AMERICAN  GIRLS   FROM  HISTORY 

1  have  sent  you  in  a  paper  Box  directed  to  you,  the  following  things 
for  your  acceptance  &  which  I  do  insist  you  wear,  if  you  do  not,  I  shall 
think  the  Donor  is  the  objection. 

2  pair  white  silk,  4  pair  white  thread  stockings  which  I  think  will  fit 
you,  i  pr  Black  Satin  Shoes,  I  pr  Black  Calem  Do,  the  other  shall  be  sent 

when  done,  i  very  pretty  light  Hat,  I  neat  airy  Summer  Cloak 

2  caps,  i  Fann. 

I  wish  these  may  please  you,  I  shall  be  gratified  if  they  do,  pray  write 
me,  I  will  attent  to  all  your  Commands. 

Adieu  my  Dr  Girl,  and  believe  me  with  great  Esteem  and  Affection 
Yours  without  Reserve 

JOHN  HANCOCK. 

Surely  such  an  appeal  could  not  have  failed  of  its  purpose, 
and  we  can  imagine  Dorothy  in  the  pretty  garments  of  a 
lover's  choosing,  and  her  pride  and  pleasure  in  wearing  them. 
But  little  coquette  that  she  was,  she  failed  to  properly  trans 
mit  her  appreciation  to  the  man  who  was  so  eager  for  it, 
and  at  that  particular  time  her  attention  was  entirely  taken 
up  by  other  diversions,  of  which,  had  Hancock  known,  he 
would  have  considered  them  far  more  important  than 
colonial  affairs. 

To  the  Fairfield  mansion,  where  Dolly  and  her  aunt  were 
staying,  had  come  a  visitor,  young  Aaron  Burr,  a  relative 
of  Thaddeus  Burr,  a  brilliant  and  fascinating  young  man, 
whose  cleverness  and  charming  personality  made  him  very 
acceptable  to  the  young  girl,  whose  presence  in  the  house 
added  much  zest  to  his  visit,  and  to  whom  he  paid  instant 
and  marked  attention.  This  roused  Aunt  Lydia  to  alarm 
and  apprehension,  for  she  knew  Dorothy's  firmness  when 
she  made  up  her  mind  on  any  subject,  and  feared  that  the 
tide  of  her  affection  might  turn  to  this  fascinating  youth, 
for  Dorothy  made  no  secret  of  her  enjoyment  of  his  atten 
tions.  This  should  not  be,  Aunt  Lydia  decided. 

With  determination,  thinly  veiled  by  courtesy,  she  walked 
and  talked  and  drove  and  sat  with  the  pair,  never  leaving 
them  alone  together  for  one  moment,  which  strict  chaperon- 

66 


DOROTHY  QUINCY 

age  Dolly  resented,  and  complained  of  to  a  friend  with  as 
much  of  petulancy  as  she  ever  showed,  tossing  her  pretty 
head  with  an  air  of  defiance  as  she  told  of  Aunt  Lydia's 
foolishness,  and  spoke  of  her  new  friend  as  a  "handsome 
young  man  with  a  pretty  property." 

The  more  devoted  young  Burr  became  to  her  charming 
ward,  the  more  determined  became  Aunt  Lydia  that  John 
Hancock  should  not  lose  what  was  dearer  to  him  than  his 
own  life.  With  the  clever  diplomacy  of  which  she  was 
evidently  past  mistress,  she  managed  to  so  mold  affairs  to 
her  liking  that  Aaron  Burr's  visit  at  Fairfield  came  to  an 
unexpectedly  speedy  end,  and,  although  John  Hancock's 
letters  to  his  aunt  show  no  trace  that  he  knew  of  a  danger 
ous  rival,  yet  he  seems  to  have  suddenly  decided  that  if 
he  were  to  wed  the  fair  Dolly  it  were  well  to  do  it  quickly. 
And  evidently  he  was  still  the  one  enshrined  in  her  heart, 
for  in  the  recess  of  Congress  between  August  first  and 
September  fifth,  John  Hancock  dropped  the  affairs  of  the 
colony  momentarily,  and  journeyed  to  Fairfield,  never  again 
to  be  separated  from  her  who  was  ever  his  ideal  of  womanhood. 

On  the  28th  day  of  August,  1775,  Dorothy  Quincy  and 
the  patriot,  John  Hancock,  were  married,  as  was  chronicled 
in  the  New  York  Gazette  of  September  4th : 

This  evening  was  married  at  the  seat  of  Thaddeus  Burr,  at  Fairfield, 
Conn.,  by  the  Reverend  Mr.  Eliot,  the  Hon.  John  Hancock,  Esq.,  Presi 
dent  of  the  Continental  Congress,  to  Miss  Dorothy  Quincy,  daughter  of 
Edmund  Quincy,  Esq.,  of  Boston.  Florus  informs  us  that  "in  the  second 
Punic  War  when  Hannibal  besieged  Rome  and  was  very  near  making 
himself  master  of  it,  a  field  upon  which  part  of  his  army  lay,  was  offered 
for  sale,  and  was  immediately  purchased  by  a  Roman,  in  a  strong  assur 
ance  that  the  Roman  valor  and  courage  would  soon  raise  the  siege/' 
Equal  to  the  conduct  of  that  illustrious  citizen  was  the  marriage  of  the 
Honorable  John  Hancock,  Esq.,  who,  with  his  amiable  lady,  has  paid 
as  great  a  compliment  to  American  valor  by  marrying  now  while  all  the 
colonies  are  as  much  convulsed  as  Rome  was  when  Hannibal  was  at 
her  gates. 

6  67 


TEN  AMERICAN  GIRLS  FROM  HISTORY 

The  New  York  Post  also  gave  a  detailed  account  of  the 
wedding,  and  of  the  brilliant  gathering  of  the  "blue  blood" 
of  the  aristocratic  old  town  as  well  as  of  the  colonies.  Had 
the  ceremony  taken  place  in  the  old  Quincy  home,  as  had 
originally  been  intended,  in  a  room  which  had  been  spe 
cially  paneled  with  flowers  and  cupids  for  the  auspicious 
event,  it  would  doubtless  have  been  a  more  homelike  affair, 
especially  to  the  bride,  but  it  would  have  lacked  the  dignified 
elegance  to  which  the  stately  Burr  mansion  lent  itself  so 
admirably. 

Pretty  Dorothy  a  bride!  Mrs.  John  Hancock  at  her  gal 
lant  husband's  side,  receiving  congratulations,  with  joy 
shining  in  her  dark  eyes,  which  were  lifted  now  and  again 
to  her  husband,  only  to  be  answered  by  a  responsive  glance 
of  love  and  loyalty.  They  were  a  handsome  and  a  happy 
pair,  to  whom  for  a  few  hours  the  strife  of  the  colonies  had 
become  a  dream — to  whom,  despite  the  turbulent  struggle 
in  which  Hancock  must  soon  again  play  such  a  prominent 
part,  the  future  looked  rose  color,  because  now  nothing  but 
death  could  part  them. 

Vivacious  Dorothy  had  not  only  now  become  Mrs.  John 
Hancock,  but  she  was  also  called  Madam  Hancock!  Oh, 
the  bliss  of  the  dignified  title  to  its  youthful  owner!  She 
read  with  girlish  satisfaction  the  item  in  a  New  York  paper 
of  September  4th,  which  reported,  "Saturday  last,  the 
Honorable  John  Hancock  and  his  Lady  arrived  here,  and 
immediately  set  out  for  Philadelphia."  With  still  greater 
pleasure  a  few  days  later  she  set  herself  to  the  establishing 
of  a  home  in  that  city  which  was  to  be  her  first  residence 
as  a  married  woman.  And  well  did  she  carry  out  her  de 
sign  to  make  John  Hancock  a  worthy  comrade,  for  besides 
accomplishing  all  the  necessary  duties  of  a  housekeeper,  she 
quickly  acquired  the  dignity  and  reserve  needed  for  the  wife 

68 


DOROTHY  QUINCY 

of  a  man  filling  such  a  prominent  position  in  the  colonies 
during  the  war  for  Independence.  There  was  much  lavish 
living  and  extravagant  elegance  of  dressing,  with  which  she 
was  obliged  to  vie,  even  in  the  town  where  the  Quakers 
were  so  much  in  evidence;  and  meeting,  as  she  did,  many 
persons  of  social  and  political  importance,  it  was  impossible 
for  pretty  Dorothy  to  be  as  care-free  and  merry  now  as  she 
had  been  in  the  days  when  no  heavy  responsibilities  rested 
on  her  shoulders. 

So  well  did  she  fill  her  position  as  Madam  Hancock  that 
she  won  golden  opinions  from  the  many  distinguished  men 
and  women  who  came  together  under  Hancock's  hospitable 
roof-tree;  her  husband  noting  with  ever  increasing  pride 
that  his  Dolly  was  more  deeply  and  truly  an  American 
woman  in  her  flowering  than  ever  he  could  have  dreamed 
she  would  become  when  he  fell  in  love  with  her  on  that 
Sunday  in  June.  And  loyally  did  he  give  to  her  credit  for 
such  inspiration  as  helped  to  mold  him  into  the  man  who 
received  the  greatest  honors  in  the  power  of  the  colonists 
to  bestow. 

With  the  later  life  of  Dorothy  Hancock  we  are  not  con 
cerned;  our  rose  had  bloomed.  It  matters  not  to  us  that 
Madam  Hancock  was  one  of  the  most  notable  women  of 
the  Revolution,  who  had  known  and  talked  with  George 
Washington,  that  she  and  Martha  Washington  had  actually 
discussed  their  husbands  together.  To  Dorothy's  great 
pride  Mrs.  Washington  had  spoken  enthusiastically  of  Han 
cock's  high  position,  while  at  that  time  her  husband  was 
but  a  general.  Then,  too,  pretty  Madam  Hancock  had 
known  the  noble  Lafayette — had  met  in  intimate  surround 
ings  all  those  great  and  patriotic  men  who  had  devoted 
their  best  endeavors  to  the  establishment  of  a  free  and  inde 
pendent  America.  All  that  is  no  concern  of  ours  in  this 
brief  story  of  the  girl,  Dorothy,  nor  is  it  ours  to  mourn  with 

69 


TEN  AMERICAN  GIRLS  FROM  HISTORY 

the  mother  over  the  death  or  her  two  children,  nor  ours  to 
wonder  why,  three  years  after  the  death  of  her  beloved 
husband,  a  man  who  had  made  his  mark  in  the  history  of 
his  country,  she  should  have  married  again. 

Ours  only  it  is  to  admire  Hancock's  Dolly  as  we  see  her 
in  her  girlish  beauty,  as  we  follow  her  through  the  black 
days  of  fear  and  of  tension  preceding  the  outbreak  of  that 
war  in  which  her  lover  played  such  a  prominent  part;  ours 
to  enjoy  her  charming  manner  and  sparkling  wit,  and  to 
respect  with  deep  admiring  a  brave  girl  of  the  Massa 
chusetts  colony  who  watched  a  great  nation  in  its  birth- 
throes,  and  whose  name  is  written  in  history  not  alone  as 
Madam  Hancock,  but  as  Dorothy  Quincy,  the  girl  who  saw 
the  first  gun  fired  for  Independence. 

An  inspiration  and  an  example  for  the  girls  of  to-day, 
at  a  time  when  all  good  Americans  are  united  in  a  firm  deter 
mination  to  make  the  world  safe  for  democracy. 


MOLLY  PITCHER:  THE  BRAVE  GUNNER  OF  THE 
BATTLE  OF  MONMOUTH 

,  but  I  would  like  to  be  a  soldier!" 
The  exclamation  did  not  come  from  a  man  or  boy 
as  might  have  been  expected,  but  from  Mary  Ludwig,  a 
young,  blue-eyed,  freckled,  red-haired  serving-maid  in  the 
employ  of  General  Irving's  family,  of  Carlisle,  Pennsyl 
vania.  Molly,  as  they  called  her,  had  a  decided  ability  to 
do  well  and  quickly  whatever  she  attempted,  and  her  eyes 
of  Irish  blue  and  her  sense  of  humor  must  have  been  handed 
down  to  her  somewhere  along  the  line  of  descent,  although 
her  father,  John  George  Ludwig,  was  a  German  who  had 
come  to  America  with  the  Palatines. 

Having  been  born  in  1754  on  a  small  dairy  farm  lying 
between  Princeton  and  Trenton,  New  Jersey,  Molly's  early 
life  was  the  usual  happy  one  of  a  child  who  lived  in  the 
fields  and  made  comrades  of  all  the  animals,  especially  of 
the  cows  which  quite  often  she  milked  and  drove  to  pas 
ture.  Like  other  children  of  her  parentage  she  was  early 
taught  to  work  hard,  to  obey  without  question,  and  never 
to  waste  a  moment  of  valuable  time.  In  rain  or  shine  she 
was  to  be  found  on  the  farm,  digging,  or  among  the  live  stock, 
in  her  blue-and-white  cotton  skirt  and  plain-blue  upper  gar 
ment,  and  she  was  so  strong,  it  was  said,  that  she  could 
carry  a  three-bushel  bag  of  wheat  on  her  shoulder  to  the 
upper  room  of  the  granary.  This  strength  made  her  very 
helpful  in  more  than  one  way  on  the  farm,  and  her  parents 
objected  strongly  when  she  announced  her  determination 


TEN  AMERICAN  GIRLS  FROM  HISTORY 

to  leave  home  and  earn  her  living  in  a  broader  sphere  of 
usefulness,  but  their  objections  were  without  avail. 

The  wife  of  General  Irving,  of  French  and  Indian  war 
fame,  came  to  Trenton  to  make  a  visit.  She  wished  to  take 
a  young  girl  back  to  Carlisle  with  her  to  assist  in  the  work 
of  her  household,  and  a  friend  told  her  of  Molly  Ludwig. 
At  once  Mrs.  Irving  saw  and  liked  the  buxom,  honest-faced 
country  girl,  and  Molly  being  willing,  she  was  taken  back 
to  the  Irvings'  home.  There  she  became  a  much  respected 
member  of  the  family,  as  well  as  a  valuable  assistant,  for 
Molly  liked  to  work  hard.  She  could  turn  her  hand  to 
anything,  from  fine  sewing,  which  she  detested,  to  scrub 
bing  floors  and  scouring  pots  and  pans,  which  she  greatly 
enjoyed,  being  most  at  home  when  doing  something  which 
gave  her  violent  exercise.  Meals  could  have  been  served 
off  a  floor  which  she  had  scrubbed,  and  her  knocker  and 
door-knobs  were  always  in  a  high  state  of  polish. 

But  though  she  liked  the  housework  which  fell  to  her  lot, 
it  was  forgotten  if  by  any  chance  the  General  began  to 
talk  of  his  experiences  on  the  battle-field.  One  day,  when 
passing  a  dish  of  potatoes  at  the  noon  meal,  the  thrilling 
account  of  a  young  artilleryman's  brave  deed  so  stirred 
Molly's  patriotic  spirit  that  she  stood  at  breathless  atten 
tion,  the  dish  of  potatoes  poised  on  her  hand  in  mid-air 
until  the  last  detail  of  the  story  had  been  told,  then  with 
a  prodigious  sigh  she  proclaimed  her  fervent  desire  to  be  a 
soldier. 

The  General's  family  were  not  conventional  and  there 
was  a  hearty  laugh  at  the  expense  of  the  serving-maid's 
ambition,  in  which  Molly  good-naturedly  joined.  Little 
did  she  dream  that  in  coming  days  her  wish  was  to  be  ful 
filled,  and  her  name  to  be  as  widely  known  for  deeds  of 
valor  as  that  of  the  artilleryman  who  had  so  roused  her 
enthusiasm. 

72 


MOLLY  PITCHER 

So  wholesome  and  energetic  in  appearance  was  Molly 
that  she  had  many  admirers,  some  of  them  fired  with  a 
degree  of  practical  purpose,  beyond  their  sentimental 
avowals.  Molly  treated  them  one  and  all  with  indifference 
except  as  comrades  until  John  Hays,  the  handsome  young 
barber  of  the  town,  much  sought  after  by  the  girls  of  Car 
lisle,  began  to  pay  her  attention,  which  was  an  entirely 
different  matter.  Molly  grew  serious-minded,  moped  as 
long  as  it  was  possible  for  one  of  her  rollicking  nature  to 
mope — even  lost  her  appetite  temporarily — then  she  mar 
ried  the  adoring  and  ecstatic  Hays,  and  gave  her  husband 
a  heart's  loyal  devotion. 

Of  a  sudden  the  peaceful  Pennsylvania  village  was  stirred 
to  its  quiet  center  by  echoes  of  the  battle  of  Lexington,  and 
no  other  subject  was  thought  of  or  talked  about.  All  men 
with  a  drop  of  red  blood  in  their  veins  were  roused  to 
action,  and  Hays  was  no  slacker.  One  morning  he  spoke 
gently  to  his  wife,  with  intent  to  hurt  her  as  little  as  possible. 

"I  am  going,  Molly,"  he  said;  "I've  joined  the  Con 
tinental  army." 

Then  he  waited  to  see  the  effect  of  his  words.  Although  he 
knew  that  his  wife  was  patriotic,  he  was  utterly  unprepared 
for  the  response  that  flamed  in  her  eager  eyes  as  she  spoke. 

"God  bless  you!"  she  exclaimed;  "I  am  proud  to  be  a 
soldier's  wife.  Count  on  me  to  stand  by  you." 

And  stand  by  she  did,  letting  no  tears  mar  the  last  hours 
with  him,  and  waving  as  cheerful  a  farewell  when  he  left 
her  as  though  he  were  merely  going  for  a  day's  pleasuring. 
From  the  firing  of  the  first  gun  in  the  cause  of  freedom  her 
soul  had  been  filled  with  patriotic  zeal,  and  now  she  rejoiced 
in  honoring  her  country  by  cheerfully  giving  the  man  she 
loved  to  its  service,  although  she  privately  echoed  her  wish 
of  long  ago  when  she  had  exclaimed,  "Oh,  how  I  wish  I 
could  be  a  soldier!" 

73 


TEN  AMERICAN  GIRLS  FROM  HISTORY 

Like  a  brave  and  sensible  young  woman,  Molly  stayed  on 
with  the  Irvings,  where  she  scrubbed  and  scoured  and  baked 
and  brewed  and  spun  and  washed  as  vigorously  as  before, 
smiling  proudly  with  no  sharp  retort  when  her  friends  laugh 
ingly  predicted  that  she  "had  lost  her  pretty  barber,  and 
would  never  set  eyes  on  him  again."  She  was  too  glad  to 
have  him  serving  his  country,  and  too  sure  of  his  devotion, 
to  be  annoyed  by  any  such  remarks,  and  kept  quietly  on 
with  her  work  as  though  it  were  her  sole  interest  in  life. 

Months  went  by,  and  hot  July  blazed  its  trail  of  parched 
ground  and  wilted  humanity.  One  morning,  as  usual 
Molly  hung  her  wash  on  the  lines,  then  she  took  a  pail 
and  went  to  gather  blackberries  on  a  near-by  hillside.  As 
she  came  back  later  with  a  full  pail,  she  saw  a  horseman, 
as  she  afterward  said,  "riding  like  lightning  up  to  General 
Irving's  house."  Perhaps  he  had  brought  news  from  her 
husband,  was  her  instant  thought,  and  she  broke  into  a 
run,  for  she  had  received  no  tidings  from  him  for  a  long 
time,  and  was  eager  to  know  where  he  was  and  how  he 
fared.  She  had  been  right  in  her  instinct,  the  messenger 
had  brought  a  letter  from  John  Hays,  and  it  contained  great 
news  indeed,  for  he  wrote: 

"When  this  reaches  you,  take  horse  with  bearer,  who  will 
go  with  you  to  your  father's  home.  I  have  been  to  the 
farm  and  seen  your  parents,  who  wish  you  to  be  with  them 
now.  And  if  you  are  there,  I  shall  be  able  to  see  you  some 
times,  as  we  are  encamped  in  the  vicinity." 

Molly  might  have  objected  to  such  a  peremptory  com 
mand,  but  the  last  sentence  broke  down  any  resistance  she 
might  have  shown.  Hastily  she  told  Mrs.  Irving  of  the 
letter  and  its  tidings,  and  although  that  lady  was  more  than 
sorry  to  lose  Molly  at  such  short  notice,  she  not  only  made 
no  objections  to  her  departure,  but  helped  her  with  her 
hurried  preparations  and  wished  her  all  possible  good  fort- 

74 


MOLLY  PITCHER 

une.  In  less  time  than  it  takes  to  tell  it,  Molly  had  "un 
pegged  her  own  clothing  from  the  lines,"  then  seeing  they 
were  still  wet,  she  made  the  articles  into  a  tight  bundle 
which  she  tied  to  the  pommel,  the  messenger  sprang  into 
the  saddle,  with  Molly  behind  him,  and  off  they  started 
from  the  house  which  had  been  Molly's  home  for  so  long, 
journeying  to  the  farm  of  her  childhood's  memories. 

Although  she  missed  the  kind-hearted  Irving  family  who 
had  been  so  good  to  her,  it  was  a  pleasure  to  be  with  her 
parents  again,  and  Molly  put  on  her  rough  farm  garments  once 
more,  and  early  and  late  was  out  among  the  cattle,  or  work 
ing  in  the  fields.  And  she  had  a  joyful  surprise  when  her 
husband  paid  her  a  flying  visit  a  few  days  later.  After  that, 
he  came  quite  frequently,  though  always  unexpectedly,  and 
if  proof  was  wanting  that  she  was  the  kind  of  a  wife  that 
John  Hays  was  proud  to  have  his  fellow- soldiers  see,  it  lies 
in  the  fact  that  he  allowed  Molly  to  visit  him  in  camp 
more  than  once.  She  saw  him  at  Trenton,  and  at  Prince 
ton,  before  the  Continental  army  routed  the  British  there, 
on  January  3,  1777. 

In  order  to  surprise  the  three  British  regiments  which 
were  at  Princeton  at  that  time,  General  Washington,  Com 
mander-in-chief  of  the  Continental  force,  quietly  left  Tren 
ton  with  his  troops,  and  crept  up  behind  the  unsuspecting 
British  at  Princeton,  killing  about  one  hundred  men  and 
taking  three  hundred  prisoners,  while  his  own  losses  were 
only  thirty  men.  Then,  anxious  to  get  away  before  Lord 
Cornwallis  could  arrive  with  reinforcements  for  the  British, 
he  slipped  away  with  his  men  to  Morristown,  New  Jersey, 
while  the  cannon  were  still  booming  on  the  battle-field, 
their  noise  being  mistaken  in  Trenton  for  thunder.  With 
the  Continental  troops  went  John  Hays,  gunner,  and  as  soon 
as  Molly  heard  of  the  engagement,  and  the  retirement  of 
General  Washington's  troops,  she  hastened  to  the  field  of 

75 


TEN  AMERICAN  GIRLS  FROM  HISTORY 

action  to  seek  out  any  wounded  men  whom  she  could  care 
for  or  comfort  in  their  last  hours.  Picking  her  way  across 
the  littered  field,  she  brought  a  drink  of  water  here,  lifted 
an  aching  head  there,  and  covered  the  faces  of  those  who 
had  seen  their  last  battle.  As  she  passed  slowly  on,  she 
saw  a  friend  of  her  husband's,  Dilwyn  by  name,  lying  half 
buried  under  a  pile  of  debris.  She  would  have  passed  him 
by  but  for  a  feeble  movement  of  his  hand  under  the  rub 
bish,  seeing  which,  she  stooped  down,  pushed  aside  his  cov 
ering,  and  felt  for  his  pulse  to  see  whether  he  were  still  alive. 
As  she  bent  down  her  quick  eye  saw  a  cannon,  near  where 
the  wounded  man  lay,  a  heavy,  cumbersome  gun  which  the 
Continentals  had  evidently  left  behind  as  being  of  a  type 
too  heavy  to  drag  with  them  on  their  hasty  march  to 
Morristown.  Beside  the  cannon  Molly  also  saw  a  lighted 
fuse  slowly  burning  down  at  one  end.  She  had  a  tempta 
tion  as  she  looked  at  the  piece  of  rope  soaked  in  some  com 
bustible,  lying  there  ready  to  achieve  its  purpose.  She 
stooped  over  Dilwyn  again,  then  she  rose  and  went  to 
the  cannon,  fuse  in  hand.  In  a  half-second  the  booming  of 
the  great  gun  shook  the  battle-field — Molly  had  touched  it 
off,  and  at  exactly  the  right  moment,  for  even  then  the  ad 
vance  guard  of  Lord  Cornwallis  and  his  men  was  within 
range! 

At  the  sound  of  the  cannon  they  halted  abruptly,  in  alarm. 
The  foe  must  be  lurking  in  ambush  dangerously  near  them, 
for  who  else  would  have  set  off  the  gun?  They  spent  an 
hour  hunting  for  the  concealed  Continentals,  while  Molly 
picked  Dilwyn  up  and  laid  him  across  her  shoulder  as  she 
had  carried  the  wheat-bags  in  childhood,  and  coolly  walked 
past  the  British,  who  by  that  time  were  swarming  across 
the  battle-field,  paying  no  attention  to  the  red-headed  young 
woman  carrying  a  wounded  soldier  off  the  field,  for  what 
could  she  have  to  do  with  discharging  a  gun! 

76 


MOLLY  PITCHER 

Molly  meanwhile  bore  her  heavy  burden  across  the  fields 
for  two  miles  until  she  reached  the  farm,  where  she  laid 
the  wounded  man  gently  down  on  a  bed  which  was  bliss 
fully  soft  to  his  aching  bones,  and  where  he  was  cared  for 
and  nursed  as  if  he  had  been  Molly's  own  kin.  When  at 
last  he  was  well  again  and  able  to  ride  away  from  the  farm, 
he  expressed  his  admiration  for  his  nurse  in  no  measured 
terms,  and  there  came  to  her  a  few  days  later  a  box  of  fine 
dress  goods  with  the  warmest  regards  of  "one  whose  life 
you  saved."  As  she  looked  at  the  rich  material,  Molly 
smoothed  it  appreciatively  with  roughened  hand,  then  she 
laid  the  bundle  away  among  her  most  cherished  possessions, 
but  making  use  of  it  never  entered  her  mind — it  was  much 
too  handsome  for  that! 

Every  hour  the  British  troops  were  delayed  at  Princeton 
was  of  great  advantage  to  the  Continental  forces,  and  by 
midnight  they  had  come  to  the  end  of  their  eighteen-mile 
march,  to  their  great  rejoicing,  as  it  had  been  a  terrible 
walk  over  snow  and  ice  and  in  such  bitter  cold  that  many 
a  finger  and  ear  were  frozen,  and  all  had  suffered  severely. 
The  men  had  not  had  a  meal  for  twenty-four  hours,  had 
made  the  long  march  on  top  of  heavy  fighting,  and  when 
they  reached  their  destination  they  were  so  exhausted  that 
the  moment  they  halted  they  dropped  and  fell  into  a  heavy 
sleep. 

While  they  were  marching  toward  Morristown,  Lord 
Cornwallis  was  rushing  his  troops  on  to  New  Brunswick 
to  save  the  supplies  which  the  British  had  stored  there. 
To  his  great  relief  he  found  them  untouched,  so  he  gave  up 
the  pursuit  of  Washington's  fleeing  forces,  and  the  Con 
tinental  army,  without  resistance,  went  into  winter  quarters 
at  Morristown,  as  their  Commander  had  planned  to  do. 
While  John  Hays,  with  the  American  army,  was  following 
his  Commander,  Molly,  at  the  farm,  had  become  the  proud 

77 


TEN  AMERICAN  GIRLS  FROM  HISTORY 

mother  of  a  son,  who  was  named  John  Hays,  Jr.,  and  who 
became  Molly's  greatest  comfort  in  the  long  months  when 
she  had  no  glimpse  or  tidings  of  her  husband.  Then  came 
news — General  Washington's  troops  were  again  on  the 
march,  passing  through  New  Jersey  toward  New  York. 
There  would  be  a  chance  to  see  her  husband,  and  Molly 
determined  to  take  it,  whatever  risk  or  hardship  it  might 
entail,  for  not  only  did  she  long  to  see  Hays,  but  she  could 
not  wait  longer  to  tell  him  of  the  perfections  of  their  son. 
And  so  Molly  went  to  the  scene  of  the  battle  of  Monmouth. 

It  was  Sunday,  the  28th  of  June,  1778,  a  day  which  has 
come  down  in  history,  not  only  because  of  the  battle  which 
marks  its  date,  but  because  of  its  scorching  heat.  The  mer 
cury  stood  near  the  100  mark,  and  man  and  beast  were 
well-nigh  overcome. 

History  tells  us  that  the  British  had  remained  at  Phila 
delphia  until  early  in  June,  when  they  had  evacuated  that 
city  and  crossed  the  Delaware  River  on  June  the  eighteenth, 
with  an  intention  to  march  across  New  Jersey  to  New  York. 
Having  heard  of  this  movement  of  the  British,  General 
Washington,  with  a  force  nearly  equal  to  that  of  the  enemy, 
also  crossed  into  New  Jersey,  with  the  purpose  of  retarding 
the  British  march  and,  if  opportunity  offered,  bring  on  a 
general  engagement.  By  the  22d  of  June  the  whole  of  the 
American  force  was  massed  on  the  east  bank  of  the  Dela 
ware  in  a  condition  and  position  to  give  the  enemy  battle. 
Despite  some  opposition  on  the  part  of  General  Lee  and  other 
officers,  Lafayette  and  Greene  agreed  with  General  Washing 
ton  in  his  opinion  that  the  time  to  strike  had  come,  and  soon 
orders  were  given  which  led  to  the  battle  of  Monmouth. 

Lafayette  was  detached  with  a  strong  body  of  troops  to 
follow  up  the  British  rear  and  act,  if  occasion  presented. 
Other  riflemen  and  militia  were  in  advance  of  him  and  on 
his  flanks,  making  a  strong  body  of  picked  troops.  To  pro- 

78 


MOLLY  PITCHER 

tect  his  twelve-mile  baggage-train  from  these  troops,  Sir 
Henry  Clinton  placed  them  with  a  large  escort  under 
Knyphausen,  while  he  united  the  rest  of  his  force  in  the 
rear  to  check  the  enemy,  if  they  came  too  close.  The  dis 
tance  between  Knyphausen's  force  and  that  which  brought 
up  the  rear  suggested  the  idea  to  Washington  to  concen 
trate  his  assault  on  the  rear  force,  and  to  hasten  the  attack 
before  the  British  should  reach  the  high  ground  of  Middle- 
town,  about  twelve  miles  away,  where  they  would  be  com 
paratively  safe. 

At  once  General  Lee  was  sent  forward  to  join  Lafayette, 
with  instructions  to  engage  the  enemy  in  such  action  as  was 
possible  until  the  remainder  of  the  troops  should  arrive. 
Lee  carried  out  his  part  of  the  command  in  such  a  half 
hearted  way  as  to  bring  severe  censure  on  him  later,  and 
when  General  Greene  arrived  on  the  scene  of  action,  Lee 
and  his  men  were  in  retreat. 

A  sharp  reproof  from  General  Washington  brought  Lee 
partially  to  his  senses;  he  turned  about  and  engaged  in  a 
short,  sharp  conflict  with  the  enemy,  and  retired  from  the 
field  in  good  order.  At  that  time  Greene's  column  arrived, 
and  as  a  movement  of  the  British  threatened  Washington's 
right  wing,  he  ordered  Greene  to  file  off  from  the  road  to 
Monmouth  and,  while  the  rest  of  the  army  pushed  forward, 
to  fight  his  way  into  the  wood  at  the  rear  of  Monmouth 
Court-House.  Greene  was  obeying  orders  when,  foreseeing 
that  by  the  flight  of  Lee  Washington  would  be  exposed  to 
the  whole  weight  of  the  enemy's  attack,  he  suddenly  wheeled 
about  and  took  an  advantageous  position  near  the  British 
left  wing. 

As  he  hoped,  this  diverted  the  enemy's  attention  from 
the  fire  of  the  American  army.  A  furious  attack  followed, 
but  was  met  by  a  cool  resistance  which  was  the  result  of  the 
army's  discipline  at  Valley  Forge. 

79 


TEN  AMERICAN  GIRLS  FROM  HISTORY 

The  artillery  of  Greene's  division,  well  posted  on  a  com 
manding  position,  was  in  charge  of  General  Knox,  and  poured 
a  most  destructive  fire  on  the  enemy,  seconded  by  the  in 
fantry,  who  steadily  held  their  ground.  Repeated  efforts 
of  the  British  only  increased  their  losses. 

Colonel  Monckton's  grenadiers,  attempting  to  drive  back 
the  American  forces,  were  repulsed  by  General  Knox's  ar 
tillery  with  great  slaughter.  A  second  attempt  was  made, 
and  a  third,  when  Colonel  Monckton  received  his  death 
blow  and  fell  from  his  horse.  General  Wayne  then  came 
up  with  a  force  of  farmers,  their  sleeves  rolled  up  as  if  har 
vesting,  and  they  forced  the  British  back  still  farther, 
leaving  the  bodies  of  their  wounded  and  dead  comrades  on 
the  field. 

Through  the  long  hours  of  the  desperate  fighting  on  that 
June  day,  the  mercury  rose  higher  and  higher,  and  many 
of  the  men's  tongues  were  so  swollen  with  the  heat  that 
they  could  not  speak,  and  they  fell  exhausted  at  their  posts. 
Seeing  this,  Molly,  who  was  with  her  husband  on  the  field 
of  battle,  discovered  a  bubbling  spring  of  water  in  the 
west  ravine,  and  spent  her  time  through  the  long  hours  of 
blistering  heat  tramping  back  and  forth  carrying  water 
for  the  thirsty  men,  and  also  for  her  husband's  cannon. 
She  used  for  her  purpose  "the  cannon's  bucket,"  which 
was  a  fixture  of  the  gun  of  that  time,  and  she  told  after 
ward  how  every  time  she  came  back  with  a  brimming  bucket 
of  the  sparkling  water,  the  men  would  call  out: 

"Here  comes  Molly  with  her  pitcher!" 

As  the  battle  grew  fiercer  and  her  trips  to  the  spring  be 
came  more  frequent,  the  call  was  abbreviated  into,  "Molly 
Pitcher!"  by  which  name  she  was  so  generally  known  from 
that  day  that  her  own  name  has  been  almost  forgotten. 

Higher  and  higher  rose  the  sun  in  a  cloudless  sky,  and 
up  mounted  the  mercury  until  the  suffering  of  the  soldiers 

80 


MOLLY  PITCHER 

in  both  armies  was  unspeakable,  although  the  British  were 
in  a  worse  state  than  the  Americans,  because  of  their  woolen 
uniforms,  knapsacks,  and  accoutrements,  while  the  Con 
tinental  army  had  no  packs  and  had  laid  off  all  unnecessary 
clothing.  Even  so,  many  of  both  forces  died  of  prostration, 
despite  Molly's  cooling  drinks  which  she  brought  to  as  many 
men  as  possible.  John  Hays  worked  his  cannon  bravely, 
while  perspiration  streamed  down  his  face  and  heat  blurred 
his  vision.  Suddenly  all  went  black  before  him — the  ram 
mer  dropped  from  his  nerveless  hand,  and  he  fell  beside 
his  gun.  Quickly  to  his  side  Molly  darted,  put  a  handker 
chief  wet  with  spring  water  on  his  hot  brow,  laid  her  head 
on  his  heart  to  see  whether  it  was  still  beating.  He  was 
alive!  Beckoning  to  two  of  his  comrades,  Molly  com 
manded  them  to  carry  him  to  the  shade  of  a  near-by  tree. 
And  soon  she  had  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  a  faint  smile 
flicker  over  his  face  as  she  bent  above  him.  At  that  mo 
ment  her  keen  ears  heard  General  Knox  give  a  command. 

"Remove  the  cannon!"  he  said.  "We  have  no  gunner 
brave  enough  to  fill  Hays's  place!" 

"No!"  said  Molly,  hastening  to  the  General's  side  and 
facing  him  with  a  glint  of  triumph  in  her  blue  eyes.  "The 
cannon  shall  not  be  taken  away!  Since  my  brave  husband 
is  not  able  to  work  it,  I  will  do  my  best  to  serve  in  his 
place!" 

Picking  up  the  rammer,  she  began  to  load  and  fire  with 
the  courage  and  decision  of  a  seasoned  gunner,  standing  at 
her  post  through  long  hours  of  heat  and  exhaustion.  When 
at  a  late  hour  the  enemy  had  finally  been  driven  back  with 
great  loss,  and  Washington  saw  the  uselessness  of  any  re 
newal  of  the  assault,  General  Greene  strode  over  to  the  place 
where  Molly  Pitcher  was  still  manfully  loading  the  cannon, 
and  gripped  her  hand  with  a  hearty: 

"I  thank  you  in  the  name  of  the  American  army!" 

Si 


TEN  AMERICAN  GIRLS  FROM  HISTORY 

One  can  fancy  how  Molly's  heart  throbbed  with  pride 
at  such  commendation,  as  she  picked  her  way  over  the 
bodies  of  the  dead  and  wounded  to  the  spot  where  her  hus 
band  was  propped  up  against  a  tree,  slowly  recovering  from 
his  prostration,  but  able  to  express  his  admiration  for  a  wife 
who  had  been  able  to  take  a  gunner's  place  at  a  moment's 
notice  and  help  to  rout  the  British. 

"That  night  the  American  army  slept  upon  their  arms; 
Greene,  like  his  Commander,  taking  his  repose  without 
couch  or  pillow,  on  the  naked  ground,  and  with  no  other 
shelter  than  a  tree  beneath  the  broad  canopy  of  heaven. 
But  this  shelter  was  not  sought,  nor  sleep  desired,  until 
every  wounded  and  hungry  soldier  had  been  cared  for  and 
fed  with  the  best  food  the  camp  could  supply.  Rising  at  dawn, 
Washington  found  the  enemy  gone !  They  had  stolen  silently 
away  with  such  rapidity  as  would,  when  their  flight  became 
known,  put  them  beyond  the  chance  of  pursuit — and  so  the 
American  army  had  been  victorious  at  Monmouth,  and  Mol 
ly  Pitcher  had  played  an  important  part  in  that  victory." 

"She,  too,  had  slept  that  night  under  the  stars,  and  when 
morning  came  she  was  still  in  the  dusty,  torn,  powder- 
stained  clothing  she  had  worn  as  cannonier,  and  afterward 
while  working  over  the  wounded.  Her  predicament  was  a 
bad  one  when  a  messenger  arrived  from  General  Washing 
ton  requesting  an  interview  with  her.  She,  Molly  Pitcher, 
to  be  received  by  the  Commander-in-chief  of  the  American 
forces  in  such  a  garb  as  that!  How  could  she  make  herself 
presentable  for  the  interview?  With  her  usual  quick  wit, 
Molly  borrowed  an  artilleryman's  coat,  which  in  some  meas 
ure  hid  her  grimy  and  torn  garments.  In  this  coat  over  her 
own  petticoats,  and  a  cocked  hat  with  a  feather,  doubtless 
plucked  from  a  straying  hen,  she  made  no  further  ado,  but 
presented  herself  to  Washington  as  requested,  and  from 
the  fact  that  she  wore  such  a  costume  on  that  June  day 

82 


MOLLY  PITCHER 

has  come  the  oft-repeated  and  untrue  story  that  she  wore 
a  man's  clothing  on  the  battle-field. 

General  Washington's  eyes  lighted  with  pleasure  at  the 
sight  of  such  a  brave  woman,  and  he  received  her  with 
such  honor  as  he  would  have  awarded  one  of  his  gallant 
men.  Molly  was  almost  overcome  with  his  words  of  praise, 
and  still  more  so  when  he  conferred  on  her  the  brevet  of 
Captain,  from  which  came  the  title,  "Captain  Molly/' 
which  she  was  called  by  the  soldiers  from  that  day.  Gen 
eral  Washington  also  recommended  that  she  be  given  a 
soldier's  half-pay  for  life,  as  a  reward  for  her  faithful  per 
formance  of  a  man's  duty  at  the  battle  of  Monmouth. 

That  was  enough  to  make  John  Hays,  now  completely 
recovered  from  his  prostration,  the  proudest  man  in  the 
army;  but  added  to  that  he  had  the  satisfaction  of  seeing 
Molly  given  a  tremendous  ovation  by  the  soldiers,  who 
cheered  her  to  the  echo  when  they  first  saw  her  after  that 
fateful  night.  To  cap  the  climax,  the  great  French  General 
Lafayette  showed  his  appreciation  of  her  courage  by  asking 
Washington  if  his  men  "might  have  the  pleasure  of  giving 
Madame  a  trifle." 

Then  those  French  officers  who  were  among  the  Ameri 
can  regiments  formed  in  two  long  lines,  between  which 
Captain  Molly  passed  in  her  artilleryman's  coat,  cocked 
hat  in  hand,  and  whil-e  lusty  cheers  rang  out,  the  hat  was 
filled  to  overflowing  with  gold  crowns. 

And  so  it  was  that  Molly  Pitcher,  a  country  girl  of  New 
Jersey,  played  a  prominent  part  in  the  battle  of  Monmouth 
and  won  for  herself  an  enviable  place  in  American  history. 

It  is  of  little  importance  to  us  that  when  the  war  was 
over,  Molly  with  her  husband  and  child  lived  quietly  in 
Carlisle,  John  Hays  going  back  to  his  trade,  Molly  doing 
washing  and  enjoying  her  annuity  of  forty  dollars  a  year 
from  the  government. 

7  83 


TEN  AMERICAN  GIRLS  FROM  HISTORY 

After  John  Hays's  death  Molly  married  again,  an  Irish 
man  named  McCauley,  and  it  would  have  been  far  better 
for  her  to  have  remained  a  widow,  for  her  life  was  unhappy 
from  that  time  until  her  death  in  1833,  at  the  age  of  seventy- 
nine. 

But  that  does  not  interest  us.  Ours  it  is  to  admire  the 
heroic  deeds  of  Molly  Pitcher  on  the  battle-field,  to  thrill 
that  there  was  one  woman  of  our  country  whose  achieve 
ments  have  inspired  poets  and  sculptors  in  the  long  years 
since  she  was  seen 

loading,  firing  that  six-pounder, — 
when,  as  a  poet  has  s*aid, 

Tho'  like  tigers  fierce  they  fought  us,  to  such  zeal  had  Molly  brought  us 
That  tho*  struck  with  heat  and  thirsting,  yet  of  drink  we  felt  no  lack; 
There  she  stood  amid  the  clamor,  swiftly  handling  sponge  and  rammer 
While  we  swept  with  wrath  condign,  on  their  line.1 

At  Freehold,  New  Jersey,  at  the  base  of  the  great  Mon- 
mouth  battle  monument  are  five  bronze  tablets,  each  five 
feet  high  by  six  in  width,  commemorating  scenes  of  that 
memorable  battle.  One  of  these  shafts  is  called  the  "Molly 
Pitcher,"  and  shows  Mary  Hays  using  that  six-pounder; 
her  husband  lies  exhausted  at  her  feet,  and  General  Knox 
is  seen  directing  the  artillery.  Also  forty-three  years  after 
her  death,  on  July  4,  1876,  the  citizens  of  Cumberland 
County,  Pennsylvania,  placed  a  handsome  slab  of  Italian 
marble  over  her  grave,  inscribed  with  the  date  of  her  death 
and  stating  that  she  was  the  heroine  of  Monmouth. 

In  this,  our  day,  we  stand  at  the  place  where  the  old  and 
the  new  in  civilization  and  in  humanity  stand  face  to  face. 
Shall  the  young  woman  of  to-day,  with  new  inspiration, 
fresh  courage,  and  desire  to  better  the  world  by  her  exist- 

i  Thomas  Dunn  English. 

84 


MOLLY  PITCHER 

ence,  face  backward  or  forward  in  the  spirit  of  patriotism 
which  animated  Molly  Pitcher  on  the  battle-field  of  Mon- 
mouth?  Ours  "not  to  reason  why,"  ours  "but  to  do  and  die," 
not  as  women,  simply,  but  as  citizen-soldiers  on  a  battle 
field  where  democracy  is  the  golden  reward,  where  in  stand 
ing  by  our  guns  we  stand  shoulder  to  shoulder  with  the 
inspired  spirits  of  the  world. 

Molly  Pitcher  stood  by  her  gun  in  1778 — our  chance  has 
come  in  1917.  Let  us  not  falter  or  fail  in  expressing  the 
best  in  achievement  and  in  womanhood. 


ELIZABETH  VAN  LEW:   THE  GIRL  WHO  RISKED 

ALL  THAT  SLAVERY  MIGHT  BE  ABOLISHED 

AND  THE  UNION  PRESERVED 


IT  was  the  winter  of  1835.  Study  hour  was  just  over  in 
one  of  Philadelphia's  most  famous  "finishing  schools" 
of  that  day,  and  half  a  dozen  girls  were  still  grouped  around 
the  big  center-table  piling  their  books  up  preparatory  to 
going  to  their  rooms  for  the  night.  Suddenly  Catherine 
Holloway  spoke. 

"Listen,  girls,"  she  said;  "Miss  Smith  says  we  are  to 
have  a  real  Debating  Club,  with  officers  and  regular  club 
nights,  and  all  sorts  of  interesting  subjects.  Won't  it  be 
fun?  And  what  do  you  suppose  the  first  topic  is  to  be?" 

Books  were  dropped  on  the  table,  and  several  voices  ex 
claimed  in  eager  question,  "What?" 

"' Resolved:  That  Slavery  be  abolished/  And  Betty  Van 
Lew  is  to  take  the  negative  side!" 

There  was  a  chorus  of  suppressed  "Oh-h-hs!"  around  the 
table,  then  some  one  asked,  "Who  is  going  to  take  the 
other  side?" 

The  speaker  shook  her  head.  "I  don't  know,"  she  said. 
"I  hope  it  will  be  me.  My,  but  it  would  be  exciting  to 
debate  that  question  against  Betty!" 

"You  would  get  the  worst  of  it,"  said  a  positive  voice. 
"There  isn't  a  girl  in  school  who  knows  what  she  thinks 
on  any  subject  as  clearly  as  Betty  knows  what  she  believes 
about  slavery." 

86 


ELIZABETH  VAN  LEW 

The  speaker  tossed  her  head.  "You  don't  know  much 
about  it,  if  you  think  that!"  she  declared.  "We  Massa 
chusetts  colonists  are  just  as  sure  on  our  side  as  she  is  on 
hers — and  you  all  ought  to  be  if  you  are  not!  Father  says 
it  is  only  in  the  cotton-raising  States  that  they  think  the 
way  Betty  does,  and  we  Northerners  must  stand  firm  against 
having  human  beings  bought  and  sold  like  merchandise.  I 
just  hope  I  will  be  chosen  on  that  debate  against  Betty." 

She  was,  but  she  came  off  vanquished  by  the  verbal 
gymnastics  of  her  opponent,  to  whom  the  arguments  in 
favor  of  slavery  were  as  familiar  as  the  principles  of  arith 
metic,  for  Betty  had  heard  the  subject  discussed  by  eloquent 
and  interested  men  ever  since  she  was  able  to  understand 
what  they  were  talking  about. 

Never  did  two  opponents  argue  with  greater  fire  and 
determination  for  a  cause  than  did  those  two  school-girls, 
pitted  against  each  other  in  a  discussion  of^a  subject  far 
beyond  their  understanding.  So  cleverly  di4rHf}\€  Virginia 
girl  hold  up  her  end  of  the  debate  against  her,  I^y  England 
opponent,  and  so  shrewdly  did  she  repeat  all  the  arguments 
she  had  heard  fall  from  Southern  lips,  that  she  sat  down 
amid  a  burst  of  applause,  having  won  her  case,  proudly  sure 
that  from  that  moment  there  would  be  no  more  argument 
against  slavery  among  her  schoolmates,  for  who  could 
know  more  about  it  than  the  daughter  of  one  of  Richmond's 
leading  inhabitants?  And  who  could  appreciate  the  great 
advantages  of  slavery  to  the  slaves  themselves  better  than 
one  who  owned  them? 

But  Betty  had  not  reckoned  with  the  strength  of  the  feel 
ing  among  those  Northerners  with  whose  children  she  was 
associated.  They  had  also  heard  many  telling  arguments  at 
home  on  the  side  against  that  which  Betty  had  won  be 
cause  she  had  complied  so  fully  with  the  rules  of  debate; 
and  she  had  by  no  means  won  her  friends  over  to  her  way 


TEN  AMERICAN  GIRLS   FROM  HISTORY 

of  thinking.  Many  a  heated  argument  was  carried  on  later 
in  the  Quaker  City  school  over  that  question  which  was 
becoming  a  matter  of  serious  difference  between  the  North 
and  the  South. 

Before  the  war  for  Independence  slavery  existed  in  all 
the  States  of  the  Union.  After  the  war  was  over  some  of 
the  States  abolished  slavery,  and  others  would  have  fol 
lowed  their  example  had  it  not  been  for  the  invention  of 
the  cotton-gin,  which  made  the  owning  of  slaves  much 
more  valuable  in  the  cotton-growing  States.  East  of  the 
Mississippi  River  slavery  was  allowed  in  the  new  States 
lying  south  of  the  Ohio,  but  forbidden  in  the  territory  north 
of  the  Ohio.  When  Missouri  applied  for  admission  into 
the  Union,  the  question  of  slavery  west  of  the  Mississippi 
was  discussed  and  finally  settled  by  what  was  afterward 
called  "The  Missouri  Compromise  of  1820." 

In  1818,  two  years  before  this  Compromise  was  agreed 
upon,  Elizabeth  Van  Lew  was  born  in  Richmond.  As  we 
have  already  seen,  when  she  was  seventeen,  she  was  in  the 
North  at  school.  Doubtless  Philadelphia  had  been  chosen 
not  only  because  of  the  excellence  of  the  school  to  which  she 
was  sent,  but  also  because  the  Quaker  City  was  her  mother's 
childhood  home,  which  fact  is  one  to  be  kept  clearly  in  mind 
as  one  follows  Betty  Van  Lew's  later  life  in  all  its  thrilling 
details. 

For  many  months  after  her  victory  as  a  debater  Betty's 
convictions  did  not  waver — she  was  still  a  firm  believer 
that  slavery  was  right  and  best  for  all.  Then  she  spent  a 
vacation  with  a  schoolmate  who  lived  in  a  New  England 
village,  in  whose  home  she  heard  arguments  fully  as  con 
vincing  in  their  appeal  to  her  reason  as  those  to  which 
she  had  listened  at  home  from  earliest  childhood.  John 
Van  Lew,  Betty's  father,  had  ever  been  one  of  those  South 
erners  who  argued  that  in  slavery  lay  the  great  protection 

88 


ELIZABETH  VAN  LEW 

for  the  negro — in  Massachusetts  Betty  heard  impassioned 
appeals  for  the  freedom  of  the  individual,  of  whatever  race, 
and  to  those  appeals  her  nature  slowly  responded  as  a  result 
partly  of  her  inheritance  from  her  mother's  Northern  blood, 
and  partly  as  a  result  of  that  keen  sense  of  justice  which 
was  always  one  of  her  marked  traits. 

At  the  end  of  her  school  days  in  the  North,  Betty's 
viewpoint  had  so  completely  changed  that  she  went  back 
to  her  Richmond  home  an  unwavering  abolitionist,  who 
was  to  give  her  all  for  a  cause  which  became  more  sacred 
to  her  than  possessions  or  life  itself. 

Soon  after  her  return  to  Virginia  she  was  visited  by  the 
New  England  friend  in  whose  home  she  had  been  a  guest, 
and  to  the  Massachusetts  girl,  fresh  from  the  rugged  hills 
and  more  severe  life  of  New  England,  Richmond  was  a 
fascinating  spot,  and  the  stately  old  mansion,  which  John 
Van  Lew  had  recently  bought,  was  a  revelation  of  classic 
beauty  which  enchanted  her. 

The  old  mansion  stood  on  Church  Hill,  the  highest  of 
Richmond's  seven  hills.  "Across  the  way  was  St.  John's, 
in  the  shadow  of  whose  walls  Elizabeth  Van  Lew  grew  from 
childhood.  St.  John's,  which  christened  her  and  confirmed 
her,  and  later  barred  its  doors  against  her."  Behind  the 
house  at  the  foot  of  the  hill  stood  "The  Libby,"  which  in 
years  to  come  was  to  be  her  special  care.  .  .  .  But  this  is  an 
ticipating  our  story.  Betty  Van  Lew,  full  of  the  charm 
and  enthusiasm  of  youth,  had  just  come  home  from  school, 
and  with  her  had  come  the  Northern  friend,  to  whom  the 
Southern  city  with  its  languorous  beauty  and  warm  hos 
pitality  was  a  wonder  and  a  delight. 

The  old  mansion  stood  close  to  the  street,  and  "from  the 
pavement  two  steep,  curving  flights  of  stone  steps,  banistered 
by  curious  old  iron  railings,  ascended  to  either  end  of  the 
square,  white-pillared  portico  which  formed  the  entrance 

89 


TEN  AMERICAN  GIRLS  FROM  HISTORY 

to  the  stately  Van  Lew  home  with  its  impressive  hall  and 
great  high-ceilinged  rooms.  And,  oh!  the  beauty  of  the 
garden  at  its  rear!" 

Betty's  friend  reveled  in  its  depths  of  tangled  color  and 
fragrance,  as  arm  in  arm  the  girls  wandered  down  broad, 
box-bordered  walks,  from  terrace  to  terrace  by  way  of 
moss-grown  stone  stairs,  deep  sunk  in  the  grassy  lawn,  and 
now  and  again  the  New  England  girl  would  exclaim: 

"Oh,  Betty,  I  can't  breathe,  it  is  all  so  beautiful!" 

And  indeed  it  was.  "There  were  fig-trees,  persimmons, 
mock  orange,  and  shrubs  ablaze  with  blossoms.  The  air 
was  heavy  with  the  sweetness  of  the  magnolias,  loud  with 
the  mocking-birds  in  the  thickets,  and  the  drone  of  insects 
in  the  hot,  dry  grass.  And  through  the  branches  of  the 
trees  on  the  lower  terrace  one  could  get  frequent  glimpses  of 
the  James  River,  thickly  studded  with  black  rocks  and  tiny 
green  islands."  No  wonder  that  the  girl  from  the  bleak 
North  found  it  in  her  heart  to  thrill  at  the  beauty  of  such 
a  gem  from  Nature's  jewel-casket  as  was  that  garden  of  the 
Van  Lews'! 

And  other  things  were  as  interesting  to  her  in  a  different 
way  as  the  garden  was  beautiful.  Many  guests  went  to  and 
from  the  hospitable  mansion,  and  the  little  Northerner  saw 
beautiful  women  and  heard  brilliant  men  talk  intelligently 
on  many  subjects  of  vital  import,  especially  on  the  all- 
important  subject  of  slavery;  of  the  men  who  upheld  it, 
of  its  result  to  the  Union.  But  more  interesting  to  her  than 
anything  else  were  the  slaves  themselves,  of  whom  the 
Van  Lews  had  many,  and  who  were  treated  with  the  kind 
ness  and  consideration  of  children  in  a  family. 

"Of  course,  it  is  better  for  them!"  declared  Betty.  "Every 
body  who  has  grown  up  with  them  knows  that  they  sim 
ply  cant  take  responsibility, — and  yet!"  There  was  a  long 
pause,  then  Betty  added,  softly:  "And  yet,  all  human 

90 


ELIZABETH  VAN  LEW 

beings  have  a  right  to  be  free;  I  know  it;  and  all  the  States 
of  the  Union  must  agree  on  that  before  there  is  any  kind 
of  a  bond  between  them." 

She  spoke  like  an  old  lady,  her  arm  leaning  on  the  window- 
sill,  with  her  dimpled  chin  resting  in  her  hand,  and  as  the 
moonlight  gleamed  across  the  window-sill,  young  as  she 
was,  in  Betty  Van  Lew's  face  there  was  a  gleam  of  that  pur 
pose  which  in  coming  years  was  to  be  her  consecration  and 
her  baptism  of  fire,  although  a  moment  later  the  conversa 
tion  of  the  girls  had  drifted  into  more  frivolous  channels, 
and  a  coming  dance  was  the  all-important  topic. 

As  we  know,  when  Missouri  applied  for  admission  into 
the  Union,  the  slavery  question  was  discussed  and  finally 
settled  by  the  so-called  "Missouri  Compromise"  in  1820. 
Now,  in  1849,  a  new  question  began  to  agitate  both  North 
and  South.  Before  that  time  the  debate  had  been  as  to 
the  abolishing  of  slavery,  but  the  question  now  changed  to 
"Shall  slavery  be  extended?  Shall  it  be  allowed  in  the 
country  purchased  from  Mexico?"  As  this  land  had  been 
made  free  soil  by  Mexico,  many  people  in  the  North  insisted 
that  it  should  remain  free.  The  South  insisted  that  the 
newly  acquired  country  was  the  common  property  of  the 
States,  that  any  citizen  might  go  there  with  his  slaves,  and 
that  Congress  had  no  power  to  prevent  them.  Besides 
this,  the  South  also  insisted  that  there  ought  to  be  as  many 
slave  States  as  free  States.  At  that  time  the  numbers  were 
equal — fifteen  slave  States  and  fifteen  free.  Some  threats 
were  made  that  the  slaveholding  States  would  leave  the 
Union  if  Congress  sought  to  shut  out  slavery  in  the  territory 
gained  from  Mexico. 

That  a  State  might  secede,  or  withdraw  from  the  Union, 
had  long  been  claimed  by  a  party  led  by  John  C.  Calhoun, 
of  South  Carolina.  Daniel  Webster  had  always  opposed  this 
doctrine  and  stood  as  the  representative  of  those  who  held 


TEN  AMERICAN  GIRLS  FROM  HISTORY 

that  the  Union  could  not  be  broken.  Now,  in  1850,  Henry 
Clay  undertook  to  end  the  quarrel  between  the  States,  and 
as  a  result  there  was  a  famous  debate  between  the  most 
notable  living  orators,  Webster,  Calhoun,  and  Clay,  and  a 
new  compromise  was  made.  It  was  called  the  Compromise 
of  1850,  and  it  was  confidently  hoped  would  be  a  final 
settlement  of  all  the  troubles  growing  out  of  slavery.  But 
it  was  not.  With  slow  and  increasing  bitterness  the  feel 
ing  rose  in  both  North  and  South  over  the  mooted  ques 
tion,  and  slowly  but  surely  events  moved  on  toward  the 
great  crisis  of  1860,  when  Abraham  Lincoln  was  elected 
President  of  the  United  States. 

"The  Southern  States  had  been  hoping  that  this  might  be 
prevented,  for  they  knew  that  Lincoln  stood  firmly  for  the 
abolition  of  slavery  in  every  State  in  the  Union,  and  that 
he  was  not  a  man  to  compromise  or  falter  when  he  believed 
in  a  principle.  So  as  soon  as  he  was  elected  the  Southern 
States  began  to  withdraw  from  the  Union,  known  as  the 
United  States  of  America.  First  went  South  Carolina, 
then  Georgia,  Florida,  Alabama,  Mississippi,  and  Louisi 
ana.  Then  delegates  from  these  States  met  in  Montgomery, 
Alabama,  and  formed  a  new  Union  which  they  called  the 
'Confederate  States  of  America,'  with  Jefferson  Davis  as 
its  President.  Then  Texas  joined  the  Confederacy,  and 
events  were  shaping  themselves  rapidly  for  an  inevitable 
culmination. 

"When  South  Carolina  withdrew  there  was  within  her 
boundary  much  property  belonging  to  the  United  States, 
such  as  lighthouses,  court-houses,  post-offices,  custom 
houses,  and  two  important  forts,  Moultrie  and  Sumter, 
which  guarded  the  entrance  to  Charleston  harbor,  and  were 
held  by  a  small  band  of  United  States  troops  under  the 
command  of  Major  Robert  Anderson. 

"As  soon  as  the  States  seceded  a  demand  was  made  on 

92 


ELIZABETH  VAN  LEW 

the  United  States  for  a  surrender  of  this  property.  The 
partnership  called  the  Union,  having  been  dissolved  by  the 
secession  of  South  Carolina,  the  land  on  which  the  buildings 
stood  belonged  to  the  State,  but  the  buildings  themselves, 
being  the  property  of  the  United  States,  should  be  paid  for 
by  the  State,  and  an  agent  was  sent  to  Washington  to  ar 
range  for  the  purchase. 

"Meanwhile,  scenting  grave  trouble,  troops  were  being 
enlisted  and  drilled,  and  Major  Anderson,  fearing  that  if 
the  agent  did  not  succeed  in  making  the  purchase  the  forts 
would  be  taken  by  force,  cut  down  the  flagstaff  and  spiked 
the  guns  at  Fort  Moultrie,  and  moved  his  men  to  Fort 
Sumter,  which  stood  on  an  island  in  the  harbor  and  could 
be  more  easily  defended,  and  so  the  matter  stood  when 
Mr.  Lincoln  was  inaugurated,  March  4,  1861." 

Fort  Sumter  was  now  in  a  state  of  siege.  Anderson  and 
his  men  could  get  no  food  from  Charleston,  while  the  troops 
of  the  Confederacy  had  planted  cannon  with  which  they 
could  at  any  time  fire  on  the  fort.  Either  the  troops  must 
very  soon  go  away  or  food  must  be  sent  them.  Mr.  Lincoln 
decided  to  send  food.  But  when  the  vessels  with  food, 
men  and  supplies  reached  Charleston,  they  found  that  the 
Confederates  had  already  begun  to  fire  on  Fort  Sumter. 
Then,  as  Major  Anderson  related:  "Having  defended  the 
Fort  for  thirty-four  hours,  until  the  quarters  were  entirely 
burned,  the  main  gates  destroyed  by  fire  .  .  .  the  magazine 
surrounded  by  flame,  and  its  doors  closed  from  the  effects 
of  heat,  four  barrels  and  three  cartridges  only  being  avail 
able,  and  no  provisions  remaining  but  pork,  I  accepted  terms 
of  evacuation  offered  by  General  Beauregard  .  .  .  and 
marched  out  of  the  Fort,  Sunday  the  I4th  instant,  with 
colors  flying  and  drums  beating." 

When  the  news  of  the  fall  of  Sumter  reached  the  North, 
the  people  knew  that  all  hope  of  a  peaceable  settlement  of 

93 


TEN  AMERICAN   GIRLS    FROM   HISTORY 

the  dispute  with  the  South  was  gone.  Mr.  Lincoln  at  once 
called  for  75,000  soldiers  to  serve  for  three  months,  and 
the  first  gun  of  the  Civil  War  had  been  fired. 

While  these  momentous  events  were  stirring  both  North 
and  South,  Betty  Van  Lew,  in  her  Richmond  home,  was  ex 
periencing  the  delights  of  young  womanhood  in  a  city  cele 
brated  for  its  gaiety  of  social  life.  "There  were  balls  and 
receptions  in  the  great  house,  garden-parties  in  the  wonder 
ful  garden,  journeyings  to  the  White  Sulphur  Springs,  and 
other  resorts  of  the  day,  in  the  coach  drawn  by  six  snowy 
horses,"  and  all  sorts  of  festivities  for  the  young  and  light- 
hearted.  Even  in  a  city  as  noted  for  charming  women 
as  was  Richmond,  Betty  Van  Lew  enjoyed  an  enviable 
popularity.  To  be  invited  to  the  mansion  on  the  hill  was 
the  great  delight  of  her  many  acquaintances,  while  more 
than  one  ardent  lover  laid  his  heart  at  her  feet;  but  her 
pleasure  was  in  the  many  rather  than  in  the  one,  and  she 
remained  heart-whole  while  most  of  her  intimate  friends 
married  and  went  to  homes  of  their  own.  It  is  said  that  as 
she  grew  to  womanhood,  she  was  "of  delicate  physique 
and  a  small  but  commanding  figure,  brilliant,  accomplished 
and  resolute,  with  great  personality  and  of  infinite  charm." 
At  first  no  one  took  her  fearless  expression  of  opinion  in 
regard  to  the  slavery  question  seriously,  coming  as  it  did 
from  the  lips  of  such  a  charming  young  woman,  but  as  time 
went  on  and  she  became  more  outspoken  and  more  dili 
gent  in  her  efforts  to  uplift  and  educate  the  negroes,  she 
began  to  be  less  popular,  and  to  be  spoken  of  as  "queer 
and  eccentric"  by  those  who  did  not  sympathize  with  her 
views. 

Nevertheless,  Richmond's  first  families  still  eagerly  ac 
cepted  invitations  to  the  Van  Lew  mansion,  and  it  was  in 
its  big  parlor  that  Edgar  Allan  Poe  read  his  poem,  "The 
Raven,"  to  a  picked  audience  of  Richmond's  elect,  there 

94 


ELIZABETH   VAN  LEW 

Jenny  Lind  sang  at  the  height  of  her  fame,  and  there  as  a 
guest  came  the  Swedish  novelist,  Fredrika  Bremer,  and  in 
later  years  came  Gen.  Ulysses  S.  Grant,  whose  admiration 
of  Elizabeth  Van  Lew  was  unbounded  because  of  her  ser 
vice  to  the  Union. 

Betty's  father  having  died  soon  after  she  came  from 
school,  and  her  brother  John  being  of  a  retiring  disposition, 
Mrs.  Van  Lew  and  Betty  did  the  honors  of  the  stately  house 
on  the  hill  in  a  manner  worthy  of  Southern  society  women, 
and  as  years  went  by  and  Betty  became  a  woman,  always 
when  they  had  brilliant  guests  she  listened  carefully,  say 
ing  little,  but  was  fearlessly  frank  in  her  expression  of  opin 
ion  on  vital  subjects,  when  her  opinion  was  asked. 

"And  now,  Sumter  had  been  fired  on.  Three  days  after 
the  little  garrison  marched  out  of  the  smoking  fort,  Virginia 
seceded  from  the  Union,  and  Richmond  went  war- mad. 
In  poured  troops  from  other  States,  and  the  beautiful 
Southern  city  became  a  vast  military  camp.  Daily  the 
daughters  of  the  Confederacy  met  in  groups  to  sew  or  knit 
for  the  soldiers,  or  to  shoot  at  a  mark  with  unaccustomed 
hands.  One  day  a  note  was  delivered  at  the  Van  Lew  man 
sion,  and  opened  by  Mrs.  Van  Lew,  who  read  it  aloud  to 
her  daughter: 

"'Come  and  help  us  make  shirts  for  our  soldiers.  We 
need  the  immediate  assistance  of  all  our  women  at  this 
critical  time.  .  .  ." 

The  silence  in  the  room  was  unbroken  except  for  the 
heart-beats  of  the  two  women  facing  a  sure  future,  looking 
sadly  into  each  other's  eyes.  Suddenly  Elizabeth  threw 
back  her  head  proudly. 

"Never!"  she  said.  "Right  is  right.  We  must  abide 
by  the  consequences  of  our  belief.  We  will  work  for  the 
Union  or  sit  idle!" 

The  testing  of  Elizabeth  Van  Lew  had  come.  Fearlessly 

95 


TEN  AMERICAN  GIRLS  FROM  HISTORY 

she  made  her  choice — fearlessly  she  took  the  consequences. 
From  that  moment  her  story  is  the  story  of  the  Federal 
Spy. 

II 

"Out  in  the  middle  of  the  turbulent  river  James  lay  Belle 
Isle  Prison  surrounded  by  its  stockade.  In  the  city  of 
Richmond,  at  the  foot  of  Church  Street,  almost  at  Betty 
Van  Lew's  door,  was  the  Libby,  with  its  grim,  gray  walls; 
only  a  stone's  throw  farther  away  were  Castle  Lightning 
on  the  north  side  of  Cary  Street,  and  Castle  Thunder  on  the 
south  side.  In  July  of  1861  the  battle  of  Bull  Run  was 
fought,  and  the  Confederate  army  defeated  and  put  to 
flight  by  the  Union  soldiers.  The  Libby,  Belle  Isle  and 
Castle  Thunder  all  were  overflowing  with  scarred  and  suf 
fering  human  beings, — with  sick  men,  wounded  men,  dying 
men,  and  Northern  prisoners."  Here  was  work  to  do! 

Down  the  aisles  of  the  hastily  converted  hospitals  and 
into  dim  prison  cells  came  almost  daily  a  little  woman  with 
a  big  smile,  always  with  her  hands  full  of  flowers  or  deli 
cacies,  a  basket  swinging  from  her  arm.  As  she  walked 
she  hummed  tuneless  airs,  and  her  expression  was  such  a 
dazed  and  meaningless  one  that  the  prison  guards  and  other 
soldiers  paid  little  heed  to  the  coming  and  going  of  "Crazy 
Bet,"  as  she  was  called.  "Mis'  Van  Lew — poor  creature, 
she's  lost  her  balance  since  the  war  broke  out.  She'll  do 
no  harm  to  the  poor  boys,  and  maybe  a  bit  of  comfortin'.  A 
permit?  Oh  yes,  signed  by  General  Winder  himself, — let 
her  be!"  Such  was  the  verdict  passed  from  sentry-guard 
to  sentry  in  regard  to  "Crazy  Bet,"  who  wandered  on  at 
will,  humming  her  ditties  and  ministering  to  whom  she 
would. 

One  day  a  cautious  guard  noticed  a  strange  dish  she  car- 

06 


ELIZABETH  VAN  LEW 

ried  into  the  prison.  It  was  an  old  French  platter,  with 
double  bottom,  in  which  water  was  supposed  to  be  placed 
to  keep  the  food  on  the  platter  hot.  The  dish  roused  the 
guard's  suspicions,  and  to  a  near-by  soldier  he  muttered 
something  about  it.  Apparently  unheeding  him,  "Crazy 
Bet"  passed  on  beyond  the  grim,  gray  walls,  carrying  her 
platter,  but  she  had  heard  his  words.  Two  days  later  she 
came  to  the  prison  door  again  with  the  strange  dish  in  her 
hand  wrapped  in  a  shawl.  The  sentry  on  guard  stopped  her. 

"I  will  have  to  examine  that,"  he  said. 

"Take  it!"  she  said,  hastily  unwrapping  it  and  dropping 
it  into  his  hands.  It  contained  no  secret  message  that 
day,  as  it  had  before — only  water  scalding  hot,  and  the 
guard  dropped  it  with  a  howl  of  pain,  and  turned  away 
to  nurse  his  burned  hands,  while  "Crazy  Bet"  went  into 
the  prison  smiling  a  broad  and  meaningless  smile. 

Well  did  the  Spy  play  her  role,  as  months  went  by; 
more  loudly  she  hummed,  more  vacantly  she  smiled,  and 
more  diligently  she  worked  to  obtain  information  regarding 
the  number  and  placing  of  Confederate  troops,  which  in 
formation  she  sent  on  at  once  to  Federal  headquarters. 
Day  by  day  she  worked,  daring  loss  of  life,  and  spending  her 
entire  fortune  for  the  sake  of  the  cause  which  was  dearer 
to  her  than  a  good  name  or  riches — the  preservation  of  the 
Union  and  the  abolishing  of  slavery. 

From  the  windows  of  the  Libby,  and  from  Belle  Isle,  the 
prisoners  could  see  passing  troops  and  supply-trains  and 
give  shrewd  guesses  at  their  strength  and  destination, 
making  their  conjectures  from  the  roads  by  which  they  saw 
the  Confederates  leave  the  town.  Also  they  often  heard 
scraps  of  conversations  between  surgeons  or  prison  guards, 
which  they  hoarded  like  so  much  gold,  to  pass  on  to  "Crazy 
Bet,"  and  so  repay  her  kindness  and  her  lavish  generosity, 
which  was  as  sincere  as  her  underlying  motive  was  genuine. 

97 


TEN  AMERICAN  GIRLS  FROM  HISTORY 

Meals  at  the  Van  Lew  mansion  grew  less  and  less  bountiful, 
even  meager, — not  one  article  did  either  Elizabeth  Van 
Lew  or  her  loyal  mother  buy  for  themselves,  but  spent  their 
ample  fortune  without  stint  on  the  sick  and  imprisoned 
in  their  city,  while  there  was  never  an  hour  of  her  time  that 
the  Federal  Spy  gave  to  her  own  concerns.  If  there  was 
nothing  else  to  be  done,  she  was  writing  a  home  letter  for 
some  heart-sick  prisoner  from  the  North,  and  secretly  carry 
ing  it  past  the  censors  to  be  sure  that  it  should  reach  the 
anxious  family  eagerly  awaiting  news  of  a  loved  one. 

"Crazy  Bet"  loaned  many  books  to  the  prisoners,  which 
were  returned  with  a  word  or  sentence  or  a  page  number 
faintly  underlined  here  and  there.  In  the  privacy  of  her 
own  room,  the  Spy  would  piece  them  together  and  read  some 
important  bit  of  news  which  she  instantly  sent  to  Federal 
headquarters  by  special  messenger,  as  she  had  ceased  using 
the  mails  in  the  early  stages  of  the  war.  Or  a  friendly  little 
note  would  be  handed  her  with  its  hidden  meaning  impos 
sible  to  decipher  except  by  one  who  knew  the  code.  Im 
portant  messages  were  carried  back  and  forth  in  her  baskets 
of  fruit  and  flowers  in  a  way  that  would  have  been  danger 
ous  had  not  "Crazy  Bet"  established  such  a  reputation  for 
harmless  kindness.  She  had  even  won  over  Lieutenant 
Todd,  brother  of  Mrs.  Lincoln,  who  was  in  charge  of  the 
Libby,  by  the  personal  offerings  she  brought  him  of  delec 
table  buttermilk  and  gingerbread.  Clever  Bet! 

So  well  did  she  play  her  part  now,  and  with  such  assur 
ance,  that  she  would  sometimes  stop  a  stranger  on  the 
street  and  begin  a  heated  argument  in  favor  of  the  Union, 
while  the  person  who  did  not  know  her  looked  on  the  out 
spoken  little  woman  with  a  mixture  of  admiration  and  con 
tempt.  At  that  time  her  lifelong  persecution,  by  those 
who  had  before  been  her  loyal  friends,  began.  Where  be 
fore  she  had  been  met  with  friendly  bows  and  smiles,  there 

98 


ELIZABETH  VAN  LEW 

were  now  averted  glances  or  open  insults.  She  encountered 
dislike,  even  hatred,  on  every  side,  but  at  that  time  it  mat 
tered  little  to  her,  for  her  heart  and  mind  were  occupied 
with  bigger  problems. 

What  she  did  mind  was  that  from  time  to  time  her  per 
mit  to  visit  the  hospitals  and  prisons  was  taken  away,  and 
she  was  obliged  to  use  all  the  diplomacy  of  which  she  was 
mistress,  to  win  it  back  again  from  either  General  Winder 
or  the  Secretary  of  War.  At  one  time  the  press  and  people 
became  so  incensed  against  the  Northern  prisoners  that 
no  one  was  allowed  to  visit  the  prisons  or  do  anything  for 
their  relief.  Among  the  clippings  found  among  Betty  Van 
Lew's  papers  is  this: 

RAPPED  OVER  THE  KNUCKS. 

One  of  the  city  papers  contained  Monday  a  word  of  exhortation  to  cer 
tain  females  of  Southern  residence  (and  perhaps  birth)  but  of  decidedly 
Northern  and  Abolition  proclivities.  The  creatures  thus  alluded  to  were 
not  named.  ...  If  such  people  do  not  wish  to  be  exposed  and  dealt 
with  as  alie*h  enemies  to  the  country,  they  would  do  well  to  cut  stick 
while  they  can  do  so  with  safety  to  their  worthless  carcasses. 

On  the  margin  in  faded  ink  there  is  written:  "These 
ladies  were  my  mother  and  myself.  God  knows  it  was  but 
little  we  could  do." 

Spring  came,  and  McClellan,  at  the  head  of  the  Army 
of  the  Potomac,  moved  up  the  peninsula.  "On  to  Rich 
mond  !"  was  the  cry,  as  the  troops  swept  by.  It  is  said  that 
the  houses  in  the  city  shook  with  the  cannonading,  and 
from  their  roofs  the  people  could  see  the  bursting  of  shells. 
"Crazy  Bet,"  watching  the  battle  with  alternate  hope  and 
fear,  was  filled  with  fierce  exultation,  and  hastily  prepared  a 
room  in  the  house  on  the  hill  with  new  matting  and  fresh 
curtains  for  the  use  of  General  McClellan.  But  the  Federal 
forces  were  repulsed  by  the  Confederate  troops  under  Gen- 
8  99 


TEN  AMERICAN  GIRLS   FROM  HISTORY 

eral  Lee  and  "drew  away  over  the  hills."  General  McClel- 
lan  had  failed  in  his  attempt  to  take  Richmond,  and  within 
that  room  freshly  prepared  for  his  use  bitter  disappoint 
ment  and  dead  hope  were  locked. 

There  was  great  rejoicing  in  Richmond  in  this  repulse 
of  the  Federal  army,  and  even  those  old  friends  who  were 
now  enemies  of  Elizabeth  Van  Lew,  could  afford  to  throw 
her  a  smile  or  a  kind  word  in  the  flush  of  their  triumph. 
She  responded  pleasantly,  for  she  was  a  big  enough  woman 
to  understand  a  viewpoint  which  differed  from  her  own. 
Meanwhile,  she  worked  on  tirelessly  through  the  long  days 
and  nights  of  an  unusually  hot  summer,  meeting  in  secret 
conferences  with  Richmond's  handful  of  Unionists,  to  plot 
and  scheme  for  the  aid  of  the  Federal  authorities.  "The  Van 
Lew  mansion  was  the  fifth  in  a  chain  of  Union  Secret  Ser 
vice  relaying  stations,  whose  beginning  was  in  the  head 
quarters  tent  of  the  Federal  army.  Of  this  chain  of  sta 
tions  the  Van  Lew  farm,  lying  a  short  distance  outside  of 
the  city,  was  one.  It  was  seldom  difficult  for  Betty  Van 
Lew  to  get  passes  for  her  servants  to  make  the  trip  between 
the  farm  and  the  Richmond  house,  and  this  was  one  of  her 
most  valuable  methods  of  transmitting  and  receiving  secret 
messages.  Fresh  eggs  were  brought  in  from  the  farm  almost 
every  day  to  the  house  on  Church  Hill,  and  no  one  was  al 
lowed  to  touch  them  until  the  head  of  the  house  had  counted 
them,  with  true  war-time  economy,  and  she  always  took 
one  out,  for  her  own  use  in  egg-nog,  so  she  said.  In  reality 
that  egg  was  but  a  shell  which  contained  a  tiny  scroll  of 
paper,  a  message  from  some  Union  general  to  the  Federal 
Spy.  An  old  negro  brought  the  farm  products  in  to  Rich 
mond,  and  he  always  stopped  for  a  friendly  chat  with  his 
mistress,  yes,  and  took  off  his  thick-soled  shoes  that  he 
might  deliver  into  her  hands  a  cipher  despatch  which  she 
was  generally  awaiting  eagerly!  Much  sewing  was  done 

100 


ELIZABETH  VAN  LEW 

for  the  Van  Lews  at  that  time  by  a  little  s£&Ttts  tress/  who 
worked  at  both  farm  and  city  home,  and  in  carrying  dress 
goods  and  patterns  back  and  forth  she  secreted  much 
valuable  information  for  the  Spy,  on  whom  the  Union  gen 
erals  were  now  depending  for  the  largest  part  of  their  news 
in  regard  to  Confederate  plans  and  movements  of  troops." 
And  she  did  not  disappoint  them  in  the  slightest  detail. 

She  must  have  a  disguise  in  which  she  could  go  about  the 
city  and  its  environs  without  fear  of  detection,  and  she 
must  also  gain  more  valuable  and  accurate  information  from 
headquarters  of  the  Confederacy.  This  she  resolved,  and 
then  set  to  work  to  achieve  her  end.  At  once  she  wrote  to 
a  negro  girl,  Mary  Elizabeth  Bowser,  who  had  been  one  of 
the  Van  Lews'  slaves,  but  who  had  been  freed  and  sent 
North  to  be  educated,  inviting  her  to  visit  the  stately  man 
sion  where  she  had  grown  up,  and  the  invitation  was  eagerly 
accepted.  On  her  arrival  in  Richmond,  she  was  closeted 
a  long  time  with  her  one-time  mistress,  to  whom  she  owed 
her  liberty,  and  when  the  interview  ended  the  girl's  eyes 
were  shining,  and  she  wore  an  air  of  fixed  resolve  only 
equaled  by  that  of  Betty  Van  Lew. 

A  waitress  was  needed  in  the  White  House  of  the  Southern 
Confederacy.  Three  days  after  Mary  Bowser  arrived  at 
the  Van  Lews',  she  had  applied  for  the  position  and  become 
a  member  of  Jefferson  Davis's  household.  Another  link 
had  been  forged  in  the  long  chain  of  details  by  which  the 
Spy  worked  her  will  and  gained  her  ends. 

Despite  the  suspicion  and  ill-will  felt  in  Richmond  for 
the  Van  Lews,  more  than  one  Confederate  officer  and  public 
official  continued  to  call  there  throughout  the  war,  to  be 
entertained  by  them.  The  fare  was  meager  in  comparison 
to  the  old  lavish  entertaining,  but  the  conversation  was  bril 
liant  and  diverting,  and  so  cleverly  did  Betty  lead  it  that 
"many  a  young  officer  unwittingly  revealed  much  impor- 

101 


TEN  AMERICAN  GIRLS  FROM  HISTORY 

'tant  information  of  which  he  never  realized  the  value,  but 
which  was  of  great  use  to  'Crazy  Bet'  when  combined 
with  what  she  already  knew. 

"And  when  night  fell  over  the  city  Betty  would  steal  out 
in  her  disguise  of  a  farm-hand,  in  the  buckskin  leggins,  one- 
piece  skirt  and  waist  of  cotton,  and  the  huge  calico  sun- 
bonnet,  going  about  her  secret  business,  a  little  lonely,  un 
noticed  figure,  and  in  a  thousand  unsuspected,  simple  ways 
she  executed  her  plans  and  found  out  such  things  as  she 
needed  to  know  to  aid  the  Federal  authorities." 

History  was  in  the  making  in  those  stirring  days  of 
1862,  when,  having  failed  to  take  Richmond,  General 
McClellan  had  returned  North  by  sea,  when  the  Confeder 
ates  under  General  Lee  prepared  to  invade  the  North,  but 
were  turned  back  after  the  great  battle  of  Antietam.  Thrill 
ing  days  they  were  to  live  through,  and  to  the  urge  and 
constant  demand  for  service  every  man  and  woman  of 
North  and  South  instantly  responded.  But  none  of  the 
women  gave  such  daring  service  as  did  Elizabeth  Van  Lew. 
Known  as  a  dauntless  advocate  of  abolition  and  of  the 
Union,  suspected  of  a  traitor's  disloyalty  to  the  South,  but 
with  that  stain  on  her  reputation  as  a  Southerner  unproved 
from  the  commencement  of  the  war  until  its  close,  her  life 
was  in  continual  danger.  She  wrote  a  year  later,  "I  was 
an  enthusiast  who  never  counted  it  dear  if  I  could  have 
served  the  Union — not  that  I  wished  to  die."  For  four 
long  years  she  awoke  morning  after  morning  to  a  new  day 
of  suspense  and  threatening  danger,  to  nights  of  tension  and 
of  horrible  fear.  "No  soldier  but  had  his  days  and  weeks 
of  absolute  safety.  For  her  there  was  not  one  hour;  be 
trayal,  friends'  blunders,  the  carelessness  of  others;  all 
these  she  had  to  dread."  All  these  she  accepted  for  the 
sake  of  a  cause  which  she  believed  to  be  right  and  just. 

As  her  system  of  obtaining  information  in  regard  to  move- 

102 


ELIZABETH  VAN  LEW 

ments  of  the  Confederates  became  more  perfect,  she  was 
connected  more  closely  with  the  highest  Federal  authorities, 
— so  closely  connected,  in  fact,  that  flowers  which  one  day 
grew  in  her  Richmond  garden  stood  next  morning  on  Gen 
eral  Grant's  breakfast  table. 

"One  day  she  received  a  letter  from  General  Butler,  which 
was  to  be  delivered  to  a  Confederate  officer  on  General 
Winder's  staff.  In  the  letter  this  officer  was  asked  to 
'come  through  the  lines  and  tell  what  he  knew,'  and  there 
were  promises  of  rewards  if  it  should  be  done  successfully. 
The  Spy  sat  quietly  thinking  for  some  time  after  receiving 
this  letter.  If  it  should  fail  into  Confederate  hands  it 
would  be  the  death-warrant  of  its  bearer.  Who  could  be 
trusted  to  take  it  to  the  officer  for  whom  it  was  intended  ? 
Coolly  Elizabeth  Van  Lew  arose,  went  out,  and  walked 
straight  to  the  office  of  General  Winder,  took  the  letter  from 
her  bosom,  and  handed  it  to  the  officer  for  whom  it  was 
intended,  watching  him  closely  as  he  read  it. 

"In  the  next  room  were  detectives  and  armed  guards,  the 
whole  machinery  of  the  Confederate  capital's  secret  police. 
The  officer  had  but  to  raise  his  voice  and  her  game  would 
be  up;  she  would  pay  the  penalty  of  her  daring  with  her 
life.  She  had  been  suspicious  of  the  officer  for  some  weeks, 
had  marked  him  as  a  traitor  to  his  cause.  Was  she  right? 

"His  face  whitened,  his  lips  were  set  as  he  read,  then, 
without  a  quiver  of  a  muscle,  he  rose  and  followed  her  out 
of  the  room;  then  he  gave  way  and  implored  her  to  be 
more  prudent.  If  she  would  never  come  there  again  he 
would  go  to  her,  he  said.  And  so  she  gained  another  aid  in 
her  determined  purpose  of  'striking  at  the  very  heart  of 
the  Confederacy.' 

"Another  day  there  was  a  message  of  vital  importance  to 
send  to  General  Grant,  who  had  asked  her  to  make  a  report 
to  him  of  the  number  and  placing  of  forces  in  and  about 

103 


TEN  AMERICAN  GIRLS  FROM  HISTORY 

Richmond.  The  cipher  despatch  was  ready,  but  if  it  were 
to  reach  Grant  in  time  there  was  not  an  hour  to  lose  in 
finding  a  messenger.  At  that  time  no  servant  of  hers  could 
leave  the  city,  and  no  Federal  agent  could  enter  it.  Hoping 
for  an  inspiration,  she  took  her  huge  market-basket  on  her 
arm,  the  basket  which  was  so  familiar  by  this  time  as  a 
part  of  'Crazy  Bet's'  outfit,  and  with  it  swinging  at  her 
side,  humming  a  tuneless  song,  she  passed  down  the  street, 
smiling  aimlessly  in  return  for  mocking  glances — and  all 
the  while  in  her  hand  she  held  the  key  to  Richmond's 
defenses! 

"As  she  walked  a  man  passed  her  and  whispered,  'I'm 
going  through  to-night!'  then  walked  on  just  ahead  of 
her.  She  gave  no  sign  of  eagerness,  but  she  was  thinking: 
Was  he  a  Federal  agent  to  whom  she  could  intrust  her 
message,  or  was  he  sent  out  by  the  police  to  entrap  her  as 
had  often  been  attempted?  The  cipher  despatch  in  her 
hand  was  torn  into  strips,  each  one  rolled  into  a  tiny  ball. 
Should  she  begin  to  drop  them,  one  by  one?  In  perplexity 
she  glanced  up  into  the  man's  face.  No!  Her  woman's 
instinct  spoke  loud  and  clear,  made  her  turn  into  a  side 
street  and  hurry  home.  The  next  day  she  saw  him  march 
ing  past  her  house  for  the  front  with  his  Confederate  regi 
ment,  in  the  uniform  of  a  junior  officer,  and  knew  that  once 
again  she  had  been  saved  from  death." 

But  although  she  had  many  such  escapes  and  her  wit 
was  so  keen  that  it  was  a  powerful  weapon  in  any  emer 
gency,  yet  as  the  conflict  between  the  North  and  the  South 
deepened  the  need  of  caution  became  more  necessary  than 
ever,  for  Confederate  spies  were  everywhere.  In  her  half- 
destroyed  diary  which  for  many  months  lay  buried  near 
the  Van  Lew  house,  over  and  over  again  the  writer  em 
phasizes  her  fear  of  discovery.  She  says: 

"If  you  spoke  in  your  parlor  or  chamber,  you  whispered, 

104 


ELIZABETH  VAN  LEW 

— you  looked  under  the  lounges  and  beds.  Visitors  appar 
ently  friendly  were  treacherous.  .  .  .  Unionists  lived  ever  in 
a  reign  of  terror.  I  was  afraid  even  to  pass  the  prison;  I 
have  had  occasion  to  stop  near  it  when  I  dared  not  look  up 
at  the  windows.  I  have  turned  to  speak  to  a  friend  and 
found  a  detective  at  my  elbow.  Strange  faces  could  some 
times  be  seen  peeping  around  the  columns  and  pillars  of  the 
back  portico.  .  .  .  Once  I  went  to  Jefferson  Davis  himself  to 
see  if  we  could  not  obtain  some  protection.  .  .  .  His  private 
Secretary  told  me  I  had  better  apply  to  the  Mayor.  .  .  . 
Captain  George  Gibbs  had  succeeded  Todd  as  keeper  of  the 
prisoners;  so  perilous  had  our  situation  become  that  we 
took  him  and  his  family  to  board  with  us.  They  were  cer 
tainly  a  great  protection.  .  .  .  Such  was  our  life — such  was 
freedom  in  the  Confederacy.  I  speak  what  I  know."  The 
diary  also  tells  of  Mrs.  Van  Lew's  increasing  dread  of  ar 
rest,  dear,  delicate,  loyal  lady — for  that  was  constantly 
spoken  of,  and  reported  on  the  street,  while  some  never 
hesitated  to  say  she  should  be  hanged. 

Another  summer  came  and  wore  away,  and  the  third  year 
of  the  war  was  drawing  to  a  close  in  the  terrible  winter  of 
1863-4.  The  Union  army  in  the  East  had  twice  advanced 
against  the  Confederates,  to  be  beaten  back  at  Fredericks- 
burg  and  at  Chancellorsville.  In  June  and  July  of  1863 
Lee  began  a  second  invasion  of  the  North,  but  was  defeated 
at  Gettysburg,  Pennsylvania.  In  July,  1863,  Vicksburg  and 
Port  Hudson  were  captured  and  the  Mississippi  River  was 
in  Union  hands,  but  in  the  following  autumn  the  Confeder 
ates  of  the  West  defeated  the  Union  army  at  Chicka- 
mauga,  after  which  General  Grant  took  command  and  was 
victorious  near  Chattanooga,  and  so  with  alternate  hope 
and  despair  on  both  sides  the  hideous  war  went  on. 

Through  cipher  despatches  "Crazy  Bet"  learned  of  an 
intended  attempt  of  Federal  officers  to  escape  from  Lib  by 

105 


TEN  AMERICAN  GIRLS  FROM  HISTORY 

Prison,  and  at  once  a  room  in  the  Van  Lew  mansion  was 
made  ready  to  secrete  them  if  they  achieved  their  pur 
pose.  The  room  was  at  the  end  of  one  of  the  big  parlors, 
and  dark  blankets  were  hung  over  its  windows;  beds  were 
made  ready  for  exhausted  occupants,  and  a  low  light  kept 
burning  day  and  night  in  readiness  for  their  possible  arrival. 

Meanwhile  the  prisoners  in  the  Libby,  desperate  because 
of  the  horrible  conditions  in  the  buildings  where  they  were 
quartered,  were  busily  constructing  a  tunnel  which  ran  from 
the  back  part  of  the  cellar  called  "Rat-Hell"  to  the  prison 
yard.  The  work  was  carried  on  under  the  direction  of 
Colonel  Rose,  and  his  frenzied  assistants  worked  like  demons, 
determined  to  cut  their  way  through  the  walls  of  that  grim 
prison  to  the  light  and  life  of  the  outer  world.  At  last  the 
tunnel  was  ready.  With  quivering  excitement  over  their 
great  adventure  added  to  their  exhaustion,  the  men  who 
were  to  make  their  escape,  one  after  another  disappeared 
in  the  carefully  guarded  hole  leading  from  the  cellar  of  the 
prison  into  a  great  sewer,  and  thence  into  the  prison  yard. 
Of  this  little  company  of  adventurous  men  eleven  Colonels, 
seven  Majors,  thirty-two  Captains,  and  fifty-nine  Lieuten 
ants  escaped  before  the  daring  raid  was  discovered.  The 
news  spread  like  wild-fire  through  the  ranks  of  the  prisoners 
who  were  still  in  the  building  and  among  those  on  duty. 
Immediately  every  effort  was  made  by  those  in  charge  to 
re-capture  the  refugees  and  bring  them  back,  and  as  a 
result,  between  fifty  and  sixty  of  them  were  once  again 
imprisoned  in  the  squalid  cells  of  the  Libby. 

Just  at  that  time  John  Van  Lew,  Betty's  brother,  was 
conscripted  into  the  Confederate  army,  and  although  unfit 
for  military  duty  because  of  his  delicate  health,  he  was  at 
once  sent  to  Camp  Lee.  As  he  was  a  keen  sympathizer 
with  his  sister's  Union  interests,  as  soon  as  he  was  sent  to 
the  Confederate  camp  he  deserted  and  fled  to  the  home  of  a 

1 06 


ELIZABETH  VAN  LEW 

family  who  lived  on  the  outskirts  of  the  city,  who  were  both 
Union  sympathizers  and  friends  of  his  sister's.  They  hid 
him  carefully,  and  Betty  at  once  came  to  aid  in  planning 
for  his  escape  from  the  city.  Unfortunately  it  was  the 
night  of  the  escape  of  the  Federal  prisoners  from  the  Libby, 
so  a  doubly  strong  guard  was  set  over  every  exit  from 
Richmond,  making  escape  impossible.  Here  was  a  difficult 
situation!  Betty  Van  Lew  knew  that  some  way  out  of  the 
dilemma  must  be  found;  for  the  house  where  her  brother 
was  secreted  would  surely  be  searched  for  the  escaped 
refugees,  and  it  would  go  hard  with  those  who  were  conceal 
ing  him  if  they  were  discovered  harboring  a  deserter. 

With  quick  wit  she  immediately  presented  herself  at 
General  Winder's  office,  where  she  used  her  diplomatic 
powers  so  successfully  that  the  general  was  entirely  con 
vinced  of  John  Van  Lew's  unfit  physical  condition  for  mili 
tary  service,  and  promised  to  make  every  effort  toward  his 
exemption.  When  all  efforts  proved  unavailing,  the  gen 
eral  took  him  into  his  own  regiment,  and  "the  Union  sym 
pathizer  never  wore  a  Confederate  uniform,  and  only  once 
shouldered  a  Confederate  musket,  when  on  a  great  panic 
day  he  stood,  a  figurehead  guard  at  the  door  of  a  govern 
ment  department.  At  last,  in  1864,  when  even  General 
Winder  could  not  longer  protect  him  from  active  service 
at  the  front,  Van  Lew  deserted  again,  and  served  with  the 
Federal  Army  until  after  the  fall  of  Richmond." 

Meanwhile  the  old  Van  Lew  house,  in  its  capacity  of 
Secret  Service  station,  was  a  hive  of  industry,  which  was 
carried  on  with  such  smooth  and  silent  secrecy  that  no  one 
knew  what  went  on  in  its  great  rooms.  And  watching 
over  all  those  who  came  and  went  on  legitimate  business, 
or  as  agents  of  the  Federal  Government  on  secret  missions, 
was  a  woman,  alert  of  body,  keen  of  mind,  standing  at  her 
post  by  day  and  by  night.  After  all  members  of  her  house- 

107 


TEN  AMERICAN  GIRLS  FROM  HISTORY 

hold  were  safely  locked  in  their  rooms  for  the  night,  the 
Spy  would  creep  down,  barefooted,  to  the  big  library  with 
its  ornamented  iron  fireplace.  On  either  side  of  this  fireplace 
were  two  columns,  on  each  of  which  was  a  small,  carved 
figure  of  a  lion.  Possibly  by  accident — probably  by  de 
sign,  one  of  these  figures  was  loosened  so  that  it  could  be 
raised  like  a  box-lid,  and  in  the  darkness  of  the  night  the 
swift,  silent  figure  of  the  Spy  would  steal  into  the  big  room, 
lift  the  carved  lion,  deftly  slip  a  message  in  cipher  into  the 
cavity  beneath  the  figure  and  cautiously  creep  away,  with 
never  a  creaking  board  to  reveal  her  coming  or  going. 

With  equal  caution  and  swift  dexterity,  early  the  next 
morning  an  old  negro  servant  would  steal  into  the  room, 
duster  and  broom  in  hand,  to  do  his  cleaning.  Into  every 
corner  of  the  room  he  would  peer,  to  be  sure  there  were  no 
watching  eyes,  then  he  would  slip  over  to  the  fireplace,  lift 
the  lion,  draw  out  the  cipher  message,  place  it  sometimes  in 
his  mouth,  sometimes  in  his  shoe,  and  as  soon  as  his  morn 
ing  chores  were  done  he  would  be  seen  plodding  down  the 
dusty  road  leading  to  the  farm,  where  some  one  was  eagerly 
waiting  for  the  tidings  he  carried.  Well  had  the  Spy 
trained  her  messengers! 

The  old  mansion  had  also  hidden  protection  for  larger 
bodies  than  could  be  concealed  under  the  recumbent  lion 
by  the  fireplace.  Up  under  the  sloping  roof,  between  the 
west  wall  of  the  garret  and  the  tiles,  was  a  long,  narrow 
room,  which  was  probably  built  at  the  order  of  Betty  Van 
Lew,  that  she  might  have  a  safe  shelter  for  Union  refugees. 
All  through  the  war  gossip  was  rife  concerning  the  Van 
Lews  and  their  movements,  and  there  were  many  rumors 
that  the  old  mansion  had  a  secret  hiding-place,  but  this 
could  never  be  proved.  Besides  those  whom  it  sheltered  from 
time  to  time,  and  the  one  whose  thought  had  planned  it, 
only  one  other  person  knew  of  the  existence  of  that  garret 

108 


MISS   VAN    LEW    BRINGING    FOOD   TO   THE   UNION    SOLDIER    IN   THE 
SECRET    ROOM 


ELIZABETH  VAN  LEW 

room,  and  for  long  years  she  was  too  frightened  to  tell  what 
she  had  seen  in  an  unexpected  moment. 

"Betty  Van  Lew's  niece  was  visiting  in  the  old  house  dur 
ing  the  blackest  period  of  the  struggle  between  the  North 
and  South.  She  was  a  little  girl,  and  her  bump  of  curiosity 
was  well  developed.  After  tossing  restlessly  in  bed  on  a 
hot  night,  she  opened  her  door  in  order  to  get  some  air. 
To  her  surprise  she  saw  Aunt  Betty  tiptoeing  through  the 
other  end  of  the  dark  hall,  carrying  something  in  her  hand. 
With  equal  stealth  the  curious  child  followed  the  creeping 
figure  up  through  the  dark,  silent  house  into  the  garret- 
saw  a  hand  reach  behind  an  old  chest  of  drawers  standing 
against  the  wall  in  the  garret,  and  with  utter  amaze  saw 
a  black  hole  in  the  wall  yawn  before  her  eyes.  There  stood 
her  aunt  before  the  opening  of  the  wall,  shading  with  cau 
tious  hand  the  candle  she  carried,  while  facing  her  stood 
a  gaunt,  hollow-eyed,  bearded  man  in  uniform  reaching  out 
a  greedy  hand  for  the  food  on  the  plate.  The  man  saw  tjie 
child's  eyes  burning  through  the  darkness  back  of  the  older 
woman,  but  she  put  a  chubby  finger  on  her  lip,  and  ran 
away  before  he  had  a  chance  to  realize  that  she  was  flesh 
and  blood  and  not  an  apparition.  Panting,  she  ran  swiftly 
down  the  long  staircase  and,  with  her  heart  beating  fast 
from  fright,  flung  herself  on  the  bed  and  buried  her  head 
in  the  pillows,  lying  there  for  a  long  time,  so  it  seemed  to 
her.  Then,  scarcely  daring  to  breathe,  for  fear  of  being  dis 
covered,  she  stole  out  of  bed  again,  opened  her  door,  and 
once  more  crept  up  through  the  silent  mansion,  this  time 
alone.  In  a  moment  she  stood  outside  the  place  where  the 
hole  in  the  wall  had  opened  before  her  amazed  vision.  Not 
a  sound  in  the  great,  dark  garret!  Putting  her  mouth  close 
to  the  partition  she  called  softly  to  the  soldier,  and  presently 
a  deep  voice  told  her  how  to  press  the  spring  and  open  the 
secret  door.  Then,  a  shivering  but  determined  little  white- 

109 


TEN  AMERICAN  GIRLS  FROM  HISTORY 

robed  figure,  she  stood  before  the  yawning  chasm  and 
talked  with  the  big,  Union  soldier,  who  seemed  delighted 
at  the  sound  of  his  own  voice,  and  years  afterward  she  re 
membered  how  he  had  looked  as  he  said: 

"My!  what  a  spanking  you  would  have  got  if  your  aunt 
had  turned  around!"  She  did  not  dare  to  stand  there 
talking  to  him  long,  for  she  was  old  enough  to  realize  that 
there  must  be  a  reason  for  his  being  in  hiding,  and  that  if 
the  secret  room  should  be  discovered  it  might  bring  unhap- 
piness  to  her  aunt.  So  in  a  very  few  moments  the  little 
white-gowned  figure  flitted  silently,  swiftly  down-stairs 
again,  and  no  one  knew  until  years  later  of  that  midnight 
excursion  of  hers — or  of  the  secret  room,  for  which  the  old 
house  was  thoroughly  searched  more  than  once. 

The  winter  of  1863-4  was  one  full  of  tense  situations 
and  of  many  alarms  for  both  Confederates  and  Unionists. 
In  February,  after  the  daring  escape  of  the  Federal  officers 
from  the  Libby,  there  were  several  alarms,  which  roused 
young  and  old  to  the  defense  of  the  city.  The  enemy  made 
a  movement  to  attack  the  city  on  the  east  side,  but  were 
driven  back.  Again  on  the  29th  of  the  month,  the  bells 
all  rang  to  call  men  to  service.  The  city  battalions  re 
sponded,  while  General  Wilcox  ordered  all  men  who  were 
in  the  city  on  furlough,  and  all  who  could  bear  arms,  out 
to  protect  the  city,  for  Kilpatrick  was  attempting  a  raid  on 
Richmond,  along  Brook  turnpike.  "But  while  he  was 
dreaming  of  taking  Richmond,  Gen.  Wade  Hampton  sud 
denly  appeared  with  his  troops  and  routed  him,  taking 
three  hundred  and  fifty  prisoners,  killing  and  wounding 
many,  and  capturing  a  large  number  of  horses." 

Then  came  an  event  for  which  the  Federal  sympathizers, 
and  especially  those  in  the  Union  Secret  Service,  had  pre 
pared  with  all  the  caution  and  secrecy  possible,  trying  to 
perfect  every  detail  to  such  a  degree  that  failure  would  be 

no 


ELIZABETH   VAN  LEW 

impossible.  To  release  all  Federal  prisoners  in  Richmond — 
this  was  but  a  part  of  the  audacious  scheme  in  which  Betty 
Van  Lew  and  a  Union  sympathizer  called  "Quaker/'  for 
purposes  of  disguise,  played  an  important  part. 

On  the  28th  of  February,  1864,  Col.  Ulric  Dahlgren  left 
Stevensburg  with  a  company  of  men,  selected  from  brig 
ades  and  regiments,  as  a  picked  command  to  attempt  a 
desperate  undertaking.  At  Hanovertown  he  crossed  with 
his  men,  all  dressed  in  Confederate  uniforms,  confidently 
expecting  to  get  into  Richmond  by  stealth.  Unfortunately 
their  movements  were  discovered,  and  when  they  rode  along 
through  the  woods  near  the  road  at  Old  Church,  in  their  dis 
guise,  a  party  of  Confederates  in  ambush  opened  fire  on 
them,  captured  ninety  white  men  and  thirty-five  negroes, 
and  killed  poor  little  crippled  Dahlgren,  a  small,  pale  young 
officer,  who  "rode  with  crutches  strapped  to  his  saddle, 
and  with  an  artificial  leg  in  the  stirrup,  as  he  had  lost  a 
limb  a  few  months  before.  His  death  was  as  patriotic  as 
was  his  desperate  attempt,  for  bravely  his  eager  band  rode 
into  the  ambush — there  was  a  volley  of  shots  from  the 
thicket  by  the  roadside,  and  the  young  colonel  fell  from 
his  horse,  dead.  Some  of  his  men  managed  to  escape,  but 
most  of  them  were  captured." 

In  Dahlgren's  pocket  was  found  an  order  to  all  of  his 
men  and  officers.  To  the  officers  he  said: 

"We  will  have  a  desperate  fight,  but  stand  up  to  it. 
When  it  does  come,  all  will  be  well.  We  hope  to  release  the 
prisoners  from  Belle  Isle  first,  and  having  seen  them  fairly 
well  started,  we  will  cross  James  River  into  Richmond,  de 
stroying  the  bridges  after  us,  and  exhorting  the  released 
prisoners  to  destroy  and  burn  the  hateful  city,  and  do  not 
allow  the  rebel  leader  Davis  and  his  traitorous  crew  to 
escape." 

To  his  guides  and  runners  he  said: 

in 


TEN  AMERICAN  GIRLS  FROM  HISTORY 

"Be  prepared  with  oakum,  turpentine,  and  torpedoes. 
Destroy  everything  that  can  be  used  by  the  rebels.  Shoot 
horses  and  cattle,  destroy  the  railroads  and  the  canal,  burn 
the  city,  leave  only  the  hospitals,  and  kill  Jeff  Davis  and 
his  Cabinet." 

A  dangerous  plan  indeed!  Small  wonder  that  when  its 
details  became  known  in  their  diabolical  cruelty,  the  people 
of  Richmond  cried  out  for  revenge,  and  the  hanging  of  the 
prisoners;  but  this  was  not  heeded  by  the  officials,  who  had 
a  saner  judgment. 

The  raid  had  failed!  Ulric  Dahlgren  had  lost  his  life  in 
a  daring  attempt  to  which  he  was  evidently  urged  by  Betty 
Van  Lew  and  the  so-called  Quaker.  Bit  by  bit  the  reasons 
for  its  failure  filtered  through  to  the  Spy,  chief  of  which 
was  the  treachery  of  Dahlgren's  guide,  by  which  the  forces 
of  the  raiders,  after  separating  in  two  parts  for  the  attack, 
lost  each  other  and  were  never  able  to  unite.  The  brave, 
crippled  young  commander  riding  fearlessly  on  to  within 
five  miles  of  the  city  into  the  ambush,  his  command  falling 
under  the  volley  of  shots  from  a  hidden  enemy — when  these 
details  reached  Betty  Van  Lew  her  anguish  was  unbearable, 
for  she  had  counted  on  success  instead  of  failure.  And  now, 
there  was  work  to  do!  Pacing  the  floor,  she  made  her  plans, 
and  with  swift  daring  carried  them  out. 

Dahlgren  was  buried  on  the  very  spot  where  he  fell;  but 
a  few  days  later  the  body  was  taken  to  Richmond  by 
order  of  the  Confederate  government,  where  it  lay  for  some 
hours  at  the  York  River  railroad  station.  Then,  at  mid 
night,  it  was  taken  away  by  the  city  officials  and  buried, 
no  one  knew  where.  But  Betty  Van  Lew  says  in  her  diary: 
"The  heart  of  every  Unionist  was  stirred  to  its  depths  .  .  . 
and  to  discover  the  hidden  grave  and  remove  his  honored 
dust  to  friendly  care  was  decided  upon." 

Admiral   Dahlgren,   father  of   the    unfortunate    colonel, 

112 


ELIZABETH  VAN  LEW 

sent  one  hundred  dollars  in  gold  to  Jefferson  Davis,  asking 
that  the  body  of  his  son  be  sent  to  him.  The  order  was 
at  once  given  to  the  chief  of  police,  with  the  added  com 
mand  to  have  the  body  placed  in  a  decent  coffin;  but  when 
the  police  went  to  carry  out  the  order,  taking  with  them 
the  soldiers  who  had  buried  Dahlgren,  the  grave  was  empty! 

Through  the  daring  act  of  Secret  Service  agents,  doubtless, 
and  of  Betty  Van  Lew's  assistants,  on  a  bitter  cold  and 
stormy  night,  two  Union  sympathizers  went  out  to  the 
grave,  the  location  of  which  had  been  cleverly  discovered 
by  the  Unionists.  The  body  of  young  Dahlgren  was  quickly 
taken  up  and  carried  to  a  work-shop  belonging  to  Mr. 
William  Rowley,  who  lived  a  short  distance  in  the  country. 
He  watched  over  the  remains  all  night,  and  during  the 
hours  of  darkness  more  than  one  Union  sympathizer  stole  out 
to  the  shop  to  pay  their  last  respects  to  the  pathetic  young 
victim  of  the  attempted  raid.  At  dawn  the  body  was  placed 
in  a  metallic  coffin  and  put  on  a  wagon,  under  a  load  of  young 
peach-trees,  which  entirely  concealed  the  casket.  Then 
Mr.  Rowley,  who  was  a  man  of  iron  nerves  and  great  cour 
age,  jumped  to  the  driver's  seat  and  bravely  drove  the 
wagon  with  its  precious  freight  out  of  Richmond,  past  the 
pickets,  without  the  visible  trembling  of  an  eye-lash  to 
betray  his  dangerous  mission. 

"As  he  had  feared,  at  the  last  picket  post,  he  was  stopped 
and  challenged.  His  wagon  must  be  searched.  Was  his 
brave  hazard  lost?  As  he  waited  for  the  search  to  be 
made  which  would  sign  his  death  warrant,  one  of  the  guards 
recognized  him  as  an  old  acquaintance,  and  began  a  lively 
conversation  with  him.  Other  wagons  came  up,  were 
searched,  and  went  on.  Presently  the  Lieutenant  came 
from  his  tent  and  called  to  the  guard  to  'Search  that  man 
and  let  him  go!' 

"The  guard  looked  with  interest  at  the  well-packed  load, 


TEN  AMERICAN  GIRLS  FROM  HISTORY 

and  remarked  that  it  would  be  a  shame  to  tear  up  those 
trees. 

"Rowley  gave  no  sign  of  fear  or  nervousness.  Non 
chalantly  he  said  that  he  had  not  expected  them  to  be  dis 
turbed,  but  that  he  knew  a  soldier's  duty. 

"Another  wagon  drove  up,  was  searched,  and  sent  on. 
Again  the  Lieutenant  gave  an  order  to  'search  the  man 
so  that  he  can  go!'  Could  anything  save  him  now?  Row 
ley  wondered.  If  he  had  not  been  a  born  actor  he  would 
have  shown  some  sign  of  the  terrible  strain  he  was  under 
as  he  waited  for  the  discovery  of  his  hidden  burden. 

"A  moment  of  agonizing  suspense,  then  the  guard  said,  in 
a  low  voice,  'Go  on!'  and  Rowley,  without  search,  went  on 
with  his  concealed  burden. 

"Meanwhile,  two  accomplices  had  flanked  the  picket,  and 
they  presently  joined  Rowley  and  showed  him  the  way  to 
a  farm  not  far  away,  where  a  grave  was  hastily  dug  and  the 
coffin  lowered  into  it.  Two  loyal  women  helped  to  fill  it 
in,  and  planted  over  it  one  of  the  peach-trees  which  had  so 
successfully  prevented  discovery.  So  ended  the  Dahlgren 
raid — and  so  the  Spy  had  been  foiled  in  one  of  the  most 
daring  and  colossal  plots  with  which  she  was  connected. 
Because  of  the  stealing  of  the  young  Colonel's  body,  Ad 
miral  Dahlgren's  wish  could  not  be  complied  with  until 
after  the  war." 

The  raid  had  failed,  and  with  the  return  of  spring,  the 
Union  Army  was  closing  in  around  Richmond,  which  made 
it  an  easier  matter  for  Betty  Van  Lew  to  communicate 
with  the  Union  generals,  especially  with  General  Grant, 
through  his  Chief  of  Secret  Service.  As  the  weary  months 
wore  away,  more  than  once  the  Spy  was  in  an  agony  of  sus 
pense,  when  it  seemed  as  if  some  one  of  her  plots  was  about 
to  bring  a  revelation  of  her  secret  activities;  as  if  disclosure 
by  some  traitor  was  inevitable;  but  in  every  case  she  was 

114 


ELIZABETH  VAN  LEW 

saved  from  danger,  and  was  able  to  continue  her  work  for 
the  Union. 

And  now  the  Confederate  forces  were  ransacking  the 
South  in  search  of  horses,  of  which  they  were  sorely  in  need. 
The  Spy  quickly  hid  her  one  remaining  animal  in  the 
smoke  -  house,  but  it  was  not  safe  there.  Confederate 
agents  were  prowling  about  the  city,  searching  every  build 
ing  in  which  a  horse  could  be  secreted.  In  the  dead  of  night 
Betty  Van  Lew  led  her  steed,  with  feet  wrapped  in  cloths 
to  prevent  noise,  from  the  smoke-house  into  the  old  man 
sion  itself,  and  stabled  it  in  the  study,  where  she  had  cov 
ered  the  floor  with  a  thick  layer  of  straw  to  deaden  any 
sound  of  stamping  hoofs.  And  the  horse  in  his  palatial 
residence  was  not  discovered. 

General  Grant  was  now  at  the  head  of  all  the  armies 
of  the  United  States,  and  to  him  was  given  the  duty  of  at 
tacking  Lee.  General  Sherman  was  at  the  head  of  a  large 
force  in  the  West,  and  his  duty  was  to  crush  the  force  of 
General  Johnston. 

On  the  fourth  of  May,  1864,  each  general  began  his  task. 
Sherman  attacked  Johnston,  and  step  by  step  drove  him 
through  the  mountains  to  Atlanta,  where  Johnston  was  re 
moved,  and  his  army  from  that  time  was  led  by  General 
Hood.  After  trying  in  vain  to  beat  Sherman,  he  turned 
and  started  toward  Tennessee,  hoping  to  draw  Sherman 
after  him.  But  he  did  not  succeed;  Sherman  sent  Thomas, 
the  "Rock  of  Chickamauga,"  to  deal  with  Hood,  and  in 
December  he  destroyed  Hood's  army  in  a  terrible  battle 
at  Nashville.  Meanwhile  Sherman  started  to  march  from 
Atlanta  to  the  sea,  his  army  advancing  in  four  columns, 
covering  a  stretch  of  country  miles  wide.  They  tore  up 
the  railroads,  destroyed  the  bridges,  and  finally  occupied 
Savannah.  There  Sherman  stayed  for  a  month,  during 
which  his  soldiers  became  impatient.  Whenever  he  passed 
9  115 


TEN  AMERICAN  GIRLS  FROM  HISTORY 

them  they  would  shout:  "Uncle  Billy,  I  guess  Grant  is 
waiting  for  us  in  Richmond!"  And  on  the  first  of  Feb 
ruary  they  resumed  their  march  to  North  Carolina. 

Grant,  meanwhile,  had  begun  his  attack  on  Lee,  on  the 
same  day  that  Sherman  had  marched  against  Johnston. 
Starting  from  a  place  called  Culpepper  Court  House,  Grant's 
army  entered  the  Wilderness,  a  tract  of  country  covered 
with  a  dense  growth  of  oak  and  pine,  and  after  much  hard 
fighting  closed  in  around  Richmond,  laying  siege  to  Peters 
burg.  Bravely  Lee  and  his  gallant  men  resisted  the  Union 
forces  until  April,  1865,  when,  foreseeing  the  tragic  end 
ahead,  Lee  left  Richmond  and  marched  westward.  Grant 
followed,  and  on  the  ninth  of  April  Lee  surrendered  his 
army  at  Appomattox  Court  House.  Johnston  surrendered 
to  Sherman  near  Raleigh,  in  North  Carolina,  about  two 
weeks  later,  and  in  May  Jefferson  Davis  was  taken  prisoner. 

This  ended  the  war.  The  Confederacy  fell  to  pieces,  and 
the  Union  was  saved.  "In  the  hearts  of  all  Union  sympa 
thizers  was  a  passionate  exultation  that  the  United  States 
was  once  again  under  one  government;  but  what  a  day  of 
sorrowing  was  that  for  loyal  Southerners!" 

It  is  said  that  on  Sunday,  the  second  of  April,  when  the 
end  was  in  sight,  children  took  their  places  in  the  Sunday 
Schools,  and  congregations  gathered  as  usual  in  the  churches, 
united  in  their  fervent  prayers  for  their  country  and  their 
soldiers.  The  worshipping  congregation  of  St.  Paul's 
Church  was  disturbed  by  the  sight  of  a  messenger  who 
walked  up  the  middle  aisle  to  the  pew  where  Jefferson 
Davis  was  sitting,  spoke  hastily  to  him,  then  went  briskly 
out  of  the  church.  What  could  it  mean? 

"Ah!"  says  an  historian,  "the  most  sadly  memorable  day 
in  Richmond's  history  was  at  hand  .  .  .  the  day  which  for 
four  long  years  had  hung  over  the  city  like  a  dreadful  night 
mare  had  come  at  last.  The  message  had  come  from  Gen- 

116 


ELIZABETH  VAN  LEW 

eral  Lee  of  the  order  to  evacuate  Richmond!     Beautiful 
Richmond  to  be  evacuated!     It  was  like  the  knell  of  doom. 

"President  Davis  and  the  other  officers  of  the  Confederate 
government  hastily  prepared  to  leave,  and  to  carry  such 
records  and  stores  as  they  were  able.  The  officers  of  the 
State  government  and  the  soldiers  were  preparing  to  march. 
The  news  of  the  evacuation  swept  over  the  city,  spreading 
dismay  and  doom  as  it  went.  The  people  began  to  collect 
their  valuables  and  hide  them  or  pack  them  to  carry  to  a 
place  of  safety,  if  any  such  place  could  be  found;  and 
throughout  the  city  there  were  scenes  of  indescribable  con 
fusion.  The  streets  were  blocked  with  furniture  and  other 
goods  which  people  were  trying  to  move.  All  government 
store-houses  were  thrown  open,  and  what  could  not  be  car 
ried  away  was  left  to  be  plundered  by  those  who  rushed 
in  to  get  bacon,  clothing,  or  whatever  they  could  take. 
The  Confederate  troops  were  rapidly  moving  toward  the 
South.  ...  At  one  o'clock  it  became  known  that  under  the 
law  of  the  Confederate  Congress  all  the  tobacco  and  cotton 
in  the  city  had  been  ordered  burned  to  keep  it  out  of  the 
hands  of  the  enemy.  In  vain  the  Mayor  sent  a  committee 
to  remonstrate  against  burning  the  warehouses.  No  heed 
was  paid  to  the  order,  and  soon  tongues  of  lurid  flame  were 
leaping  from  building  to  building,  until  the  conflagration 
was  beyond  all  control.  Men  and  women  were  like  frenzied 
demons  in  their  efforts  to  save  property;  there  was  terrific 
looting.  Wagons  and  carts  were  hastily  loaded  with  goods; 
some  carried  their  things  in  wheel-barrows,  some  in  their 
arms.  Women  tugged  at  barrels  of  flour,  and  children  vainly 
tried  to  move  boxes  of  tobacco.  The  sidewalks  were  strewn 
with  silks,  satins,  bonnets,  fancy  goods,  shoes,  and  all  sorts 
of  merchandise.  There  was  no  law  and  there  were  no 
officers;  there  was  only  confusion,  helpless  despair  on  every 
side.  Before  sunrise  there  was  a  terrific  explosion  which 

117 


TEN  AMERICAN  GIRLS  FROM  HISTORY 

shook  the  whole  city;  the  magazine  back  of  the  poorhouse 
was  blown  up.  ...  At  six  o'clock  in  the  morning  the  evacua 
tion  was  complete,  and  the  railroad  bridges  were  set  on  fire/' 

The  conflagration  was  at  its  height  when  the  vanguard 
of  the  Federal  army  entered  the  city,  the  cavalry  galloping 
at  full  speed. 

"Which  is  the  way  to  the  Capitol?"  they  shouted,  then 
dashed  up  Governor  Street,  while  a  bitter  wail  rose  from 
the  people  of  Richmond.  "The  Yankees!  The  Yankees! 
Oh,  the  Yankees  have  taken  our  city!" 

As  the  cry  went  up,  a  United  States  flag  was  unfurled 
over  the  Capitol.  At  once  General  Weitzel  took  command 
and  ordered  the  soldiers  to  stop  all  pillaging  and  restore 
order  to  the  city;  but  it  was  many  hours  before  the  com 
mand  could  be  fully  carried  out.  Then  and  only  then  did 
the  exhausted,  panic-stricken,  heart-sick  people  fully  realize 
the  hideous  disaster  which  had  come  to  their  beloved  city; 
only  when  they  saw  the  destruction  and  desolation  wrought 
by  the  fire  did  they  fully  grasp  the  awful  meaning  of  the 
cry,  "On  to  Richmond!"  which  for  four  long  years  had  been 
the  watch-word  of  the  Union  forces. 

And  how  fared  it  with  the  Federal  Spy  during  those  hours 
of  anguish  for  all  true  Southerners?  Betty  Vari  Lew,  who 
had  been  in  close  touch  with  the  Union  generals,  had  for 
some  time  foreseen  the  coming  climax  of  the  four  years' 
struggle,  and  weeks  earlier  she  had  sent  north  to  General 
Butler  for  a  huge  American  flag,  eighteen  feet  long  by  nine 
wide,  which  in  some  unknown  way  was  successfully  carried 
into  Richmond  without  detection  by  the  picket  guard,  and 
safely  secreted  in  the  hidden  chamber  under  the  Van  Lew 
roof. 

And  now  General  Lee  had  surrendered.  Virginia  was 
again  to  be  a  State  of  the  Union;  came  a  messenger  fleet 
of  foot,  cautious  of 'address,  bringing  breathless  tidings  to 

118 


ELIZABETH  VAN  LEW 

the  Spy:  "Your  house  is  to  be  burned — the  Confederate 
soldiers  say  so.  What  can  you  do  to  prevent  it?" 

Even  as  she  listened  to  his  excited  words,  Betty  Van  Lew's 
heart  was  throbbing  with  joyful  excitement,  despite  the  up 
roar  in  the  city  from  the  constant  explosion  of  shells,  the 
sound  of  the  blowing  up  of  gun-boats  in  the  harbor,  and  of 
the  powder  magazines,  which  was  shaking  the  foundations 
of  the  city,  as  red  flames  leaped  across  the  black  sky.  Even 
then  there  was  in  the  heart  of  the  Spy  a  wild  exultation. 
"Oh,  army  of  my  country,  how  glorious  was  your  welcome!" 
she  exclaims  in  her  diary. 

She  heard  the  news  that  her  home  was  about  to  be  burned. 
With  head  erect  and  flashing  eyes  she  went  out  alone  and 
stood  on  the  white-pillared  portico,  a  fearless  little  figure, 
defying  the  mob  who  were  gathering  to  destroy  the  old 
mansion  which  was  so  dear  to  her. 

"I  know  you — and  you — and  you!"  she  cried  out,  calling 
them  each  by  name,  and  pointing  at  one  after  another. 
"General  Grant  will  be  in  this  city  within  an  hour;  if  this 
house  is  harmed  your  house  shall  be  burned  by  noon!"  At 
the  fearless  words,  one  by  one  they  turned,  muttering,  and 
slunk  away,  and  the  Van  Lew  house  was  neither  burned  nor 
harmed  in  any  way. 

The  Union  troops  were  coming  near  now,  marching  to 
the  center  of  the  city.  As  the  long,  dusty  line  of  men  in 
blue  swung  into  Main  Street,  Betty  Van  Lew  ran  up  to  the 
secret  room  under  the  garret  roof,  drew  out  the  great  flag 
for  which  she  had  sent  in  anticipation  of  this  day,  and 
when  the  Union  soldiers  marched  past  the  historic  old 
mansion,  the  Stars  and  Stripes  were  waving  proudly  over 
its  portico.  The  Confederacy  was  no  more! 

Despite  her  bravery,  Betty  Van  Lew's  life  was  now  in 
danger.  There  was  urgent  need  of  special  protection  for 
her.  Feeling  against  the  northern  victors  was  at  fever 

119 


TEN  AMERICAN  GIRLS  FROM  HISTORY 

height  in  poor,  desolated,  defeated  Richmond,  and  it  is 
small  wonder  that  one  born  in  their  city,  who  yet  stood 
openly  and  fearlessly  against  all  that  the  Southerners  held 
sacred,  should  have  been  despised,  and  worse  than  that. 
Realizing  her  danger,  and  knowing  the  priceless  service  she 
had  rendered  the  Union  generals  in  the  four  long  years  of 
the  war,  Colonel  Parke,  with  a  force  of  men,  was  sent  to 
protect  the  Spy.  To  the  General's  utter  amazement  they  did 
not  find  her  in  the  old  house.  She  was  found  in  the  deserted 
Capitol,  ransacking  it  for  documents  which  she  feared  might 
be  destroyed  and  which  would  be  a  loss  to  the  Government. 

As  "Crazy  Bet"  and  as  a  Union  Spy,  Betty  Van  Lew's 
long  and  remarkable  service  of  her  country  was  ended. 
The  Confederacy  was  dissolved,  and  again  the  flag  of  the 
United  States  of  America  could  rightfully  wave  from  every 
building  in  the  land.  At  the  beginning  of  the  war,  when 
Betty  took  on  herself  the  role  of  Federal  Secret  Service 
agent,  she  was  light  of  heart,  alert  of  body  and  mind.  Now, 
for  four  years,  she  had  born  a  heavy  burden  of  fear  and 
of  crushing  responsibility,  for  the  sake  of  a  cause  for  which 
she  was  willing  to  sacrifice  comfort,  wealth  and  other  things 
which  the  average  woman  counts  dear,  and  her  heart  and 
brain  were  weary. 

Two  weeks  after  the  inauguration  of  Grant  as  President 
of  the  United  States,  as  a  reward  for  her  faithful  service, 
he  appointed  Betty  Van  Lew  postmistress  of  Richmond. 
Well  she  knew  that  her  enemies  would  declare  the  appoint 
ment  a  reward  for  her  services  against  the  Confederacy, 
and  that  it  would  but  make  her  more  of  an  alien  in  Rich 
mond  than  ever  she  had  been  before.  But  she  was  des 
perately  poor,  so  she  accepted  the  position  and  for  eight 
years  filled  it  efficiently.  When  she  came  in  contact  with 
old  friends  from  time  to  time  in  a  business  way,  they  were 
politely  cold,  and  in  her  diary  sh«  writes: 

120 


ELIZABETH  VAN  LEW 

"I  live,  as  entirely  distinct  from  the  citizens  as  if  I  were 
plague-stricken.  Rarely,  very  rarely,  is  our  door-bell  ever 
rung  by  any  but  a  pauper  or  those  desiring  my  service/' 
She  adds:  "September,  1875,  m7  Mother  was  taken  from 
me  by  death.  We  had  not  friends  enough  to  be  pall 
bearers." 

When  Grant  had  been  succeeded  by  Hayes  as  President 
of  the  United  States,  the  one-time  Spy  was  obliged  to  ask 
for  his  aid : 

"I  am  hounded  down" — she  wrote  to  his  private  Secre 
tary.  "I  never,  never  was  so  bitterly  persecuted;  ask  the 
President  to  protect  me  from  this  unwarranted,  unmerited, 
and  unprecedented  persecution." 

From  her  own  point  of  view,  and  from  that  of  those  who 
fought  for  the  abolition  of  slavery  and  the  preservation  of 
the  Union,  Betty  Van  Lew's  persecution  was  indeed  "un 
warranted  and  unmerited."  But  there  was  another  side 
to  the  matter.  Elizabeth  Van  Lew,  although  the  child  of  a 
Northern  mother,  was  also  the  daughter  of  John  Van  Lew, 
one  of  Richmond's  foremost  citizens.  The  loyalty  of  the 
Southerners  to  the  Confederacy  and  to  one  another,  from 
their  view-point,  was  praiseworthy,  and  there  is  every  rea 
son  why  they  should  have  shunned  one  of  Richmond's 
daughters,  who  not  only  approved  the  cause  of  the  hated 
Yankees,  but  who  aided  the  Union  generals  in  their  deter 
mination  to  sweep  "On  to  Richmond,  to  the  defeat  of  the 
Confederacy." 

What  to  one  was  loyalty,  to  the  other  was  treason — what 
to  the  Spy  was  a  point  of  honor,  to  her  old  friends  was 
her  open  and  lasting  disgrace,  and  never  can  the  two  view 
points  be  welded  into  one,  despite  the  symbol  of  Union 
which  floats  over  North  and  South,  making  the  United 
States  of  America  one  and  "indivisible,  now  and  forever!" 

Betty  Van  Lew  remained  postmistress  of  Richmond  for 

121 


TEN  AMERICAN  GIRLS  FROM  HISTORY 

eight  years,  then  she  was  removed,  and  there  were  black 
years  of  poverty  and  loneliness  for  her,  as  she  had  not  laid 
by  a  dollar  for  a  day  of  want,  but  had  given  lavishly  to 
all  in  need,  especially  to  the  negroes.  She  was  not  able  to 
sell  her  valuable  but  unproductive  real  estate,  and  was 
reduced  to  actual  need.  "I  tell  you  really  and  solemnly," 
she  confesses  to  her  diary,  "I  have  suffered  for  necessary 
food.  I  have  not  one  cent  in  the  world.  I  have  stood  the 
brunt  alone  of  a  persecution  that  I  believe  no  other  person 
in  the  country  has  endured.  ...  I  honestly  think  that  the 
Government  should  see  that  I  was  sustained/5 

At  last  she  was  given  a  clerkship  in  the  Post-Office  Depart 
ment  at  Washington,  but  after  two  years  this  was  taken 
from  her,  probably  for  political  reasons,  and  it  was  recom 
mended  that  she  be  given  a  clerkship  of  a  lower  grade. 
This  was  done,  and  although  she  was  cut  by  the  injustice 
of  the  act,  she  clung  patiently  to  her  only  means  of  support. 
Two  weeks  later,  it  is  said  that  a  Northern  newspaper  con 
tained  an  editorial  which  spoke  sneeringly  of  "A  Trouble 
some  Relic,"  and  ended  with,  "We  draw  the  line  at  Miss 
Van  Lew."  Even  though  she  had  not  a  penny  in  the 
world,  she  could  not  bear  the  sting  of  that,  and  she  wrote 
her  resignation,  and  went  back  to  the  great,  lonely  house 
on  Church  Hill  a  heart-broken,  pitiable  woman,  who  had 
given  her  all  for  what  she  believed  to  be  the  cause  of  right 
and  justice. 

But  she  could  not  live  in  the  old  mansion  alone,  and  with 
out  food  or  money.  In  despair  she  wrote  a  letter  to  a  friend 
in  the  North,  a  relative  of  Col.  Paul  Revere,  whom  she  had 
helped  when  he  was  a  prisoner  in  the  Libby.  She  had  to 
borrow  a  stamp  from  an  old  negro  to  send  the  letter,  and 
even  worse  to  her  than  that  was  the  necessity  of  revealing 
her  desperate  plight.  But  she  need  not  have  felt  as  she  did. 
As  soon  as  the  letter  reached  its  destination  there  was  a 

122 


ELIZABETH  VAN  LEW 

hurried  indignation  meeting  of  those  Boston  men  who  knew 
what  she  had  .done  for  the  Union,  and  immediately  and 
gladly  they  provided  an  ample  annuity  for  her,  which 
placed  her  beyond  all  need  for  the  remaining  years  of  her 
life.  This  was,  of  course,  a  great  relief;  but  even  so,  it  could 
not  ease  the  burden  of  her  lonely  isolation. 

"No  one  will  walk  with  us  on  the  street,"  she  writes; 
"no  one  will  go  with  us  anywhere.  ...  It  grows  worse  and 
worse  as  the  years  roll  on.  .  .  ." 

And  so  the  weary  months  and  years  went  by,  and  at  last, 
in  the  old  mansion  with  its  haunting  memories,  nursed  by 
an  aged  negress  to  whom  she  had  given  freedom  years  be 
fore,  Elizabeth  Van  Lew  died.  Among  her  effects  there 
was  found  on  a  torn  bit  of  paper  this  paragraph: 

"If  I  am  entitled  to  the  name  of  'Spy'  because  I  was  in 
the  Secret  Service,  I  accept  it  willingly,  but  it  will  hereafter 
have  to  my  mind  a  high  and  honorable  significance.  For 
my  loyalty  to  my  country,  I  have  two  beautiful  names; 
here  I  am  called  'Traitor/  farther  North  a  'Spy,'  instead 
of  the  honored  name  of  Faithful." 

And  well  may  she  be  called  "Faithful"  by  both  friend 
and  enemy,  for  she  gave  freely  of  youth  and  strength,  of 
wealth  and  her  good  name,  of  all  that  human  beings  hold 
most  sacred,  for  that  which  was  to  her  a  consecrated  and 
a  just  cause. 

In  the  Shockhoe  Hill  Cemetery  of  Richmond,  there  is  to 
be  seen  a  bronze  tablet,  erected  to  the  noble  woman  who 
worked  tirelessly  and  without  fitting  reward  for  a  cause 
which  she  believed  to  be  righteous.  The  inscription  on  the 
tablet  reads - 

Elizabeth  L.  Van  Lew 

1818  1900. 

She  risked  everything  that  is  dear  to  man — 

friends,    fortune,    comfort,    health,    life    it- 

123 


TEN  AMERICAN  GIRLS  FROM  HISTORY 

self;  all  for  the  one  absorbing  desire  of  her 
heart — that  slavery  might  be  abolished  and 
the  Union  preserved. 


This  Boulder 

from  the  Capitol  Hill  in  Boston,  is  a  tribute 
from  Massachusetts  friends. 

Elizabeth  Van  Lew  was  indeed  a  Spy  working  against 
the  city  of  her  birth,  and  the  friends  of  her  love  and  loyalty, 
— a  traitor  in  one  sense  of  the  word;  but  above  all  was  she 
tireless  in  working  for  her  highest  ideals,  and  so  is  she  worthy 
of  respect  and  honor  wherever  the  Stars  and  Stripes  float  free 
over  united  America. 


IDA  LEWIS:   THE  GIRL  WHO  KEPT  LIME  ROCK 
BURNING;  A  HEROIC  LIFE-SAVER 

"  T^ATHER  has  the  appointment!     We  are  going  to  live 

1  on  the  island,  and  you  must  all  row  over  to  see  me 
very  often.  Isn't  it  wonderful?" 

A  bright-faced  young  girl,  surrounded  by  a  group  of  school 
mates,  poured  out  her  piece  of  news  in  such  an  eager  torrent 
of  words  that  the  girls  were  as  excited  as  the  teller  of  the  tale, 
and  there  was  a  chorus  of:  "Wonderful!  Of  course  we  will! 
What  fun  to  live  in  that  fascinating  place!  Let's  go  and 
see  it  now!" 

No  sooner  decided  than  done,  and  in  a  very  short  time 
there  was  a  fleet  of  rowboats  led  by  that  of  Ida  Lewis,  on 
their  way  to  the  island  in  Baker's  Bay,  where  the  Lime 
Rock  Light  stood,  of  which  Captain  Hosea  Lewis  had  just 
been  appointed  keeper. 

Ida,  Captain  Hosea's  daughter,  was  born  at  Newport, 
Rhode  Island,  on  the  25th  of  February,  1841,  and  was  sent 
to  school  there  as  soon  as  she  was  old  enough.  She  was  a 
quick-witted,  sure-footed,  firm-handed  girl  from  her  earliest 
childhood,  and  a  great  lover  of  the  sea  in  all  its  changing 
phases.  Often  instead  of  playing  games  on  land  with  her 
mates  she  would  beguile  some  old  fisherman  to  take  her  out 
in  his  fishing  dory,  and  eagerly  help  him  make  his  hauls, 
and  by  the  time  she  was  fourteen  years  old  she  was  an  expert 
in  handling  the  oars,  and  as  tireless  a  swimmer  as  could  be 
found  in  all  Newport. 

And  now  her  father  had  been  appointed  keeper  of  the 


TEN  AMERICAN  GIRLS  FROM  HISTORY 

Lime  Rock  Light,  the  "Ida  Lewis"  light,  as  it  came  to 
be  known  in  later  years,  and  the  girl's  home  was  no  longer 
to  be  on  terra  firma,  but  on  the  rock-ribbed  island  where 
the  lighthouse  stood,  whose  beacon-light  cast  strong,  steady 
rays  across  Baker's  Bay,  to  the  greater  Narragansett  Bay, 
of  which  it  is  only  an  arm. 

The  flock  of  girls  in  their  boats  rowed  hard  and  fast  across 
the  silvery  water  with  a  steady  plash,  plash  of  the  dipping 
oars  in  the  calm  bay,  and  ever  Ida  Lewis  was  in  the  lead, 
heading  toward  the  island  with  a  straight  course,  and  keep 
ing  a  close  watch  for  the  rocks  of  which  the  Bay  was  full. 
She  would  turn  her  head,  toss  back  her  hair,  and  call  out  in 
ringing  tones  to  the  flock,  "  'Ware,  shoals!"  and  obediently 
they  would  turn  as  she  turned,  follow  where  she  led.  Soon 
her  boat  ran  its  sharp  bow  against  the  rocky  ledge  to  which 
they  had  been  steering,  and  with  quick  confidence  Ida 
sprang  ashore,  seized  the  painter,  and  drew  her  boat  to  a 
mooring,  while  the  rest  of  the  fleet  came  to  the  landing  and 
one  after  another  the  girls  jumped  ashore.  Then  up  the 
rocky  path  to  the  lighthouse  filed  Ida  and  her  friends, 
eager  to  inspect  the  queer  place  which  was  to  be  Ida's  home. 

"How  perfectly  lovely!  How  odd!  Oh,  how  I  wish  I 
were  going  to  live  here!  Ida,  you  are  lucky —  But  just 
think  how  the  wind  will  howl  around  the  house  in  a  storm! 
Will  your  father  ever  let  you  tend  the  light,  do  you  think?" 

The  Questions  were  not  answered,  and  those  who  asked 
them  did  not  expect  a  response.  They  all  chattered  on  at 
the  same  time,  while  they  inspected  every  nook  and  corner 
of  their  friend's  new  home.  It  was  a  small  place,  that  house 
on  Lime  Rock,  built  to  house  the  light-keeper's  family,  but 
one  which  could  well  answer  to  the  name  of  "home"  to 
one  as  fond  of  the  sea  as  was  Ida  Lewis.  On  the  narrow 
promontory,  with  the  waves  of  the  quiet  bay  lapping  its 
rocky  shores,  the  two-story  white  house  stood  like  a  sea-gull 

126 


IDA  LEWIS 

poised  for  flight.  A  living-room,  with  wide  windows  opening 
out  on  the  bay  it  had,  and  simple  bedrooms  where  one  could 
be  lulled  to  sleep  by  the  lapping  of  waters  on  every  side, 
while  at  the  front  of  the  house  stood  the  tower  from  which 
the  light  sent  its  searching  beams  to  guide  mariners  trying 
to  enter  the  Newport  harbor. 

The  girls  climbed  the  spiral  staircase  leading  up  to  the 
light,  and  looked  with  wonder  not  unmixed  with  awe  at  the 
great  lamp  which  was  always  filled  and  trimmed  for  imme 
diate  use — saw  the  large  bell  which  tolled  continuously 
during  storm  or  fog;  then  they  went  down  again  to  the  sun 
shiny  out  of  doors,  and  were  shown  the  boat-house,  not  so 
far  back  of  the  light  that  it  would  be  difficult  to  reach  in  a 
storm. 

It  was  all  a  fairy  residence  to  those  young  girls,  and  little 
could  they  imagine  that  bright-eyed  Ida,  who  was  about  to 
become  a  lighthouse-keeper's  daughter,  was  to  be  known  in 
later  years  as  the  Grace  Darling  of  America,  because  of  her 
heroic  life  on  that  small  promontory  in  Baker's  Bay! 

The  Lewis  family  settled  in  the  lighthouse  as  speedily  as 
possible,  and  when  their  simple  household  goods  were  ar 
ranged,  the  island  home  was  a  pretty  and  a  comfortable 
place,  where  the  howling  winds  of  winter  or  the  drenching, 
depressing  fogs  of  all  seasons  would  have  no  chance  to  take 
from  the  homelike  cheer  inside,  no  matter  how  severe  they 
were.  Books,  pictures,  a  large  rag  rug,  a  model  of  a  sloop, 
made  by  Captain  Hosea,  family  portraits  belonging  to  his 
wife — whose  girlhood  had  been  spent  on  Block  Island  as  the 
daughter  of  Dr.  Aaron  C.  Wiley,  and  to  whose  ears  the 
noise  of  wind  and  waves  was  the  music  of  remembered  girl 
hood — all  these  added  to  the  simple  interior  of  the  light 
house,  while  out  of  doors  there  was,  as  Ida  said,  "All  the 
sea,  all  the  sky,  all  the  joy  of  the  great  free  world,  and  plenty 
of  room  to  enjoy  it!" 

127 


TEN  AMERICAN  GIRLS  FROM  HISTORY 

And  enjoy  it  she  certainly  did,  although  she  had  to  rise 
early  and  eat  the  plainest  of  fare,  for  the  pay  of  a  lighthouse- 
keeper  would  not  allow  of  many  luxuries.  At  night  she  was 
in  bed  and  fast  asleep  before  her  friends  on  land  had  even 
thought  of  leaving  their  amusements  or  occupations  for  sleep. 
It  was  a  healthy  life,  and  Ida  grew  broad  of  shoulders, 
heavier  in  weight  and  as  muscular  as  a  boy.  Every  morning 
she  inspected  her  boat,  and  if  it  needed  bailing  out  or  clean 
ing  she  was  at  work  on  it  before  breakfast;  then  at  the 
appointed  hour  she  was  ready  to  row  her  younger  brothers 
and  sisters  to  the  mainland  to  school.  Like  a  little  house 
keeper,  after  dropping  them,  she  went  to  market  in  Newport 
for  her  mother,  and  sometimes  her  boat  would  be  seen  cross 
ing  the  bay  more  than  once  a  morning,  if  there  wer*  ^any 
supplies  to  be  carried  over;  then  the  children  must  I  r-  r!  ed 
back  after  school  hours.  Small  wonder  that  Ida  came  to 
know  every  rock  in  the  bay,  and  was  able  to  steer  her  boat 
safely  in  and  out  among  the  many  obstructions  which  were 
a  peril  to  less  intelligent  mariners. 

Towering  over  all  neighboring  buildings,  the  Lime  Rock 
Light  stood  on  its  rocky  ledge,  clearly  seen  by  men  on  vessels 
entering  or  leaving  Narragansett  Bay,  and  by  officers  and 
men  at  Fort  Adams,  as  well  as  by  those  who  lived  within 
sight  of  the  light,  and  it  came  to  be  a  daily  word,  "Watch 
for  the  girl,"  for  Ida  sturdily  rowed  across  the  bay,  no 
matter  how  furious  the  storm,  how  dense  the  fog. 

Late  one  afternoon,  after  visiting  a  friend,  she  was  rowing 
from  Newport  at  the  hour  when  a  snub-nosed  schooner  sailed 
slowly  into  the  harbor  on  its  way  from  New  York  to  New 
port  with  every  sign  of  distress  visible  among  its  crew,  for 
not  even  the  Captain  knew  where  lay  the  channel  of  safety 
between  the  perilous  rocks,  and  the  fog  was  thick. 

Ida  saw  the  schooner,  and  guessed  its  dilemma.  Rowing 
as  close  to  it  as  she  could,  she  signaled  to  the  captain  to 

128 


IDA      LEWIS 


IDA  LEWIS 

follow  her,  and  her  words  were  carried  to  him  on  the  heavy 
air: 

"Come  on!    Don't  be  afraid!" 

Obediently  he  went  on,  as  the  girl  directed,  and  reached 
the  dock  of  his  destination  in  safety,  where  he  shook  hands 
heartily  with  his  bright-eyed  guide  before  she  pushed  off 
again  for  her  island  home.  Later  he  spread  the  news  among 
his  mates  that  there  was  a  "boss  in  Baker's  Bay  who  knew 
what  she  was  about,"  and  his  advice  was,  "In  danger  look 
for  the  dark-haired  girl  in  a  row-boat  and  follow  her." 

This  came  to  be  the  accepted  fashion  among  captains  of 
the  schooners  which  in  that  day  plied  so  frequently  between 
New  York  and  Newport,  and  many  a  letter  of  thanks,  or 
a  more  substantial  remembrance,  did  she  receive  from  some 
one  she  had  piloted  across  the  angry  bay. 

Soldiers  trying  to  reach  the  fort,  or  sailors  anxious  to  row 
out  to  their  ships,  always  found  a  ready  ferry-woman  in 
Ida,  and  before  the  Lewis  family  had  been  in  the  light 
house  for  many  months  she  was  one  of  the  most  popular 
young  persons  on  land  or  sea  within  many  miles — for  who 
had  ever  before  seen  such  a  seaworthy  young  mariner  as  she, 
or  where  could  such  a  fund  of  nautical  wisdom  be  discovered 
as  was  stored  in  her  clear  head?  This  question  was  asked 
in  affectionate  pride  by  more  than  one  good  seaman  who  had 
become  Ida's  intimate  friend  at  the  close  of  her  first  year 
on  Lime  Rock,  while  all  the  skippers  had  an  intense  admira 
tion  for  the  girl  who  not  only  handled  her  life-boat  with  a 
man's  skill,  but  who  kept  the  light  filled  and  trimmed  and 
burning  to  save  her  father  steps,  now  that  he  was  crippled 
with  rheumatism. 

The  heat  of  summer  had  given  place  to  the  crisp  coolness 
of  a  glorious  October  day  as  Ida  was  just  starting  to  row  to 
the  mainland  to  do  an  errand  for  her  mother.  She  looked 
out  of  the  window,  across  the  bay,  to  see  if  there  was  any 

120 


TEN  AMERICAN  GIRLS    FROM   HISTORY 

prospect  of  a  shower,  and  her  keen  eyes  glimpsed  a  sight  that 
made  her  hurry  for  the  glass.  Looking  through  it,  she  gave 
a  sharp  cry  and  rushed  to  the  door. 

"What  is  it,  daughter?"  the  captain  queried. 

But  Ida  was  already  out  of  the  house.  So  he  hobbled 
slowly  to  the  window  and,  with  the  use  of  the  glass  Ida  had 
dropped,  saw  his  energetic  child  push  the  life-boat  out  of  its 
shelter,  drag  it  to  the  shore,  jump  in  and  row  rapidly  to  the 
middle  of  the  bay  where  a  pleasure-boat  had  capsized. 
There  were  four  men  in  the  water,  struggling  with  the  high 
waves  which  momentarily  threatened  to  overcome  them. 
When  Ida  reached  them  in  her  life-boat,  two  were  clinging 
to  the  overturned  craft,  and  two  were  making  a  desperate 
effort  to  swim  toward  shore.  The  watching  captain,  through 
his  glass,  saw  Ida  row  close  to  the  capsized  boat  and  with 
strong,  steady  hands  pull  and  drag  one  after  another  of  the 
men  into  her  boat.  When  they  were  all  in,  she  rowed  with 
sure  strokes  back  across  the  stormy  water,  carrying  her  load 
of  human  freight  to  shore  and  receiving  their  thanks  as 
modestly  as  if  she  had  not  done  a  remarkable  deed  for  a 
girl  of  seventeen.  A  very  fine  piece  of  work  was  Ida's 
first  rescue,  but  by  no  means  her  last.  She  loved  to  row  out 
in  a  storm  and  dare  the  winds  and  waves  to  do  their  worst, 
and  she  grew  to  think  her  mission  a  clear  one,  as  life-saver 
of  the  light. 

A  year  after  her  first  experience  as  life-saver,  her  father, 
who  had  recently  been  paralyzed,  died,  and  so  capable 
was  his  eighteen-year-old  daughter  in  doing  his  duties  that 
she  was  allowed  to  continue  in  the  care  of  the  light  until 
her  father's  successor  should  be  appointed.  When  the  news 
came  to  her,  Ida's  eyes  gleamed,  as  if  in  anticipation  of  some 
happy  event,  and  to  her  devoted  Newfoundland  dog  she 
exclaimed:  "We  love  it  too  well  to  give  it  up  to  anybody; 
don't  we,  doggie  dear  ?  We  will  succeed  to  ourselves !"  And 

130 


IDA  LEWIS 

she  did  succeed  to  herself,  being  finally  made  keeper  of  the 
light  by  special  act  of  Congress — the  appointment  being 
conferred  upon  her  in  1879  by  General  Sherman  as  a  compli 
ment  to  her  ability  and  bravery;  doubtless  because  of  the 
recommendation  of  those  fishermen  and  seamen  whose  re 
spect  for  the  brave  girl  was  great  and  who  did  not  wish  the 
government  to  remove  her.  In  any  case,  she  was  chosen  for 
the  responsible  position  as  successor  to  her  father,  and  to 
herself,  as  she  quaintly  put  it,  and  more  and  more  she  be 
came  devoted  to  every  stone  of  the  small  promontory,  and 
to  every  smallest  duty  in  connection  with  her  work  and  her 
island  home. 

Winter  and  summer  passed  in  the  regular  routine  of  her 
daily  duties  as  keeper  of  the  light,  and  every  time  she  lighted 
the  big  lamp  whose  beams  shone  out  over  the  waters  with 
such  comforting  gleams  for  watching  mariners  she  was  filled 
with  assurance  that  hers  was  the  greatest  and  most  interest 
ing  mission  in  the  world. 

Winter  came  with  its  howling  winds  and  frozen  bay.  A 
terrific  storm  was  blowing  from  the  north;  snow  was  driv 
ing  from  every  direction  and  it  was  hardly  possible  to  stand 
on  one's  feet  because  of  the  fury  of  the  gale.  Ida  lighted  her 
beacon  of  warning  to  ships  at  sea,  and  rejoiced  as  she  saw 
its  glowing  rays  flash  out  over  the  turbulent  waters.  Then 
she  went  down  into  the  cozy  kitchen  and  speedily  ate 
a  simple  supper  prepared  by  her  mother.  How  the  wind 
shrieked  around  the  little  house  on  the  island!  Ida  has 
tily  raised  the  curtain,  to  see  how  heavily  it  was  storm 
ing,  and  she  gave  an  exclamation  of  surprise;  then  ran 
up  the  spiral  stairway  to  the  tower,  where  in  the  rays  of 
the  steady  light  she  could  see  more  clearly.  Far  out  on 
the  waves,  beyond  the  frozen  surface  of  the  inner  bay,  she 
saw  a  light  skifF  bobbing  up  and  down,  the  toy  of  wind  and 
wave;  in  it  by  the  aid  of  her  powerful  glass  she  could  see  a 
10  131 


TEN  AMERICAN  GIRLS   FROM  HISTORY 

stiff,  still  figure.  A  man  had  been  overcome  by  the  cold — 
he  would  die  if  he  were  not  rescued  at  once.  Quick  as  a 
flash  she  was  down-stairs,  in  the  boat-house,  had  pulled  out 
the  boat,  although  it  was  a  hard  task  in  such  a  storm  even 
for  one  as  strong  as  she,  and  soon  was  on  her  way  across 
that  part  of  the  bay  which  was  not  frozen.  Up  and  down  on 
the  storm-tossed  waves  her  craft  tossed,  now  righting  itself, 
now  almost  submerged — but  Ida  pulled  on  with  strong 
sure  strokes,  and  drew  alongside  of  the  bobbing  skiff — took 
hold  of  it,  drew  it  to  the  side  of  her  own  boat,  and,  looking 
into  the  face  of  the  man  in  it,  saw  that  he  must  be  rowed 
to  land  as  quickly  as  possible  if  he  were  to  be  saved.  She 
saved  him.  When  he  regained  consciousness  he  found  him 
self  propped  up  before  the  warm  fire  in  the  lighthouse 
kitchen,  with  the  most  delicious  feeling  of  languor  stealing 
through  his  whole  frame,  instead  of  the  cruel  numbness 
which  had  been  the  last  sensation  before  he  became  uncon 
scious.  And  it  added  materially  to  his  enjoyment  that  a 
bright-eyed,  dark-haired  young  woman  hovered  around  him, 
ministering  to  his  wants  in  a  delightful  way. 

The  young  lighthouse-keeper's  next  rescue  was  of  a  soldier 
from  the  Fort  Adams  garrison  who,  in  trying  to  cross  the 
harbor  in  a  small  boat,  was  thrown  into  the  bay  by  the 
force  of  the  waves,  and  would  have  been  drowned,  as  he 
was  not  a  good  swimmer,  had  not  Ida's  keen  eyes  seen  him 
and  she  gone  instantly  to  his  rescue.  He  was  a  heavy  man, 
and  Ida  tried  in  vain  to  lift  him  into  her  boat,  but  was 
not  strong  enough.  What  should  she  do?  The  great  waves 
were  lashing  against  the  boats  in  such  a  fury  that  what 
was  done  must  be  done  quickly.  With  ready  wit  she  threw 
a  rope  around  his  body  under  the  arm-pits,  and  towed  him 
to  shore  as  hard  and  fast  as  she  could,  at  the  same  time 
watching  closely  that  his  head  did  not  go  under  water. 
It  was  a  man-sized  job,  but  Ida  accomplished  it,  and,  seeing 

132 


IDA  LEWIS 

his  exhaustion  when  she  reached  shore,  she  called  two  men, 
who  aided  in  resuscitating  him. 

"Who  towed  him  in?"  asked  one  of  them,  who  was  a 
stranger  to  Ida. 

"I  did,"  she  replied. 

"Ah,  go  on!"  he  said,  incredulously.  "A  girl  like  you 
doing  that!  Tell  me  something  I  can  believe!" 

Ida  laughed  and  turned  to  the  other  man.  "He  will  tell 
you  what  I  have  done  and  what  I  can  do,  even  if  I  am  a  girl!" 
she  said;  and  the  seaman,  just  landed  from  a  coastwise 
steamer,  looked  at  her  with  admiration  tinged  with  awe. 
"She's  the  boss  of  these  parts,"  said  his  companion,  "and 
the  prettiest  life-saver  on  the  coast.  Just  try  it  yourself 
and  see!" 

As  the  man  did  not  seem  to  care  about  risking  his  life 
to  have  it  saved,  even  by  Ida  Lewis,  he  went  his  way,  but 
whenever  his  steamer  touched  at  Newport  after  that  he 
always  paid  his  respects  to  the  "prettiest  life-saver  on  the 


coast." 


Twelve  months  went  by,  with  ever-increasing  fame  for 
the  girl  keeper  of  Lime  Rock  Light  who  had  become  one  of 
the  features  of  the  vicinity,  to  meet  and  talk  with  whom 
many  a  tourist  lengthened  a  stay  in  Newport,  and  Ida 
enjoyed  meeting  them  and  showing  them  her  light  and  her 
home  and  her  boat  and  her  dog  and  all  her  other  treasures, 
while  in  return  they  told  her  many  interesting  things  about 
the  great  world  beyond  the  beams  of  her  light. 

Up  in  the  tower  one  day — it  was  in  the  autumn  of  1867 — 
she  was  looking  out  over  the  bay,  fearing  trouble  for  some 
vessel,  as  a  furious  storm  was  raging,  and  the  wind  was 
blowing  snow  in  such  white  sheets  that  few  captains  could 
make  their  way  among  the  rocks  of  the  harbor  without 
difficulty,  while  any  one  foolish  enough  to  set  out  in  a  row- 
boat  would  find  it  impossible  to  reach  the  shore. 

133 


TEN  AMERICAN  GIRLS  FROM  HISTORY 

Out  flashed  the  rays  of  the  beacon-light,  and  far  off  on 
the  tempestuous  waves  Ida  saw  what  seemed  to  be  two 
men  in  a  boat  with  a  load  of  sheep.  The  wind  was  howling, 
and  borne  on  its  shrieking  Ida  fancied  she  could  hear  the 
moans  of  the  men  and  the  frightened  beasts. 

One  quick  look  at  her  light,  to  make  sure  that  it  was  all 
right  to  leave,  then  down  ran  the  life-saver  to  her  self- 
appointed  work.  Never  was  there  such  a  gale  blowing  in 
Narragansett  Bay,  and  in  the  smaller  bay  white-capped 
waves  and  gusts  of  wind  and  rain  added  to  biting,  stinging 
cold  made  it  almost  impossible  even  for  sturdy  Ida  to 
struggle  out  from  the  boat-house,  to  launch  her  rowboat 
on  the  stormy  sea.  But  she  never  gave  in  to  any  obstacles, 
and  soon  her  little  boat  could  be  seen  making  slow  headway 
across  the  bay,  in  the  direction  of  the  drifting  men  and 
their  cargo  of  sheep. 

Now  the  wind  drove  her  back,  now  it  blew  her  small  craft 
to  one  side  and  the  other,  but  steadily,  though  slowly,  she 
gained  on  herself,  and  at  last  she  reached  the  men,  who 
could  make  no  headway  in  the  teeth  of  such  a  gale,  and  were 
simply  drifting  and  watching  Ida's  acts  with  incredulous 
wonder.  A  young  girl — come  to  rescue  them  in  such  a  storm 
as  this!  Quickly  she  helped  them  to  climb  into  her  boat, 
and  took  up  her  oars.  One  man  protested.  "But  the 
sheep,"  he  said. 

"Leave  them  to  me!"  commanded  Ida,  sternly,  rowing  as 
fast  as  she  could,  her  dark  hair  streaming  over  her  shoulders 
and  her  cheeks  rose-red  from  the  stinging  cold  of  the  air. 
Neither  man  ventured  another  word.  Reaching  the  rocky 
coast  of  the  island,  Ida  sprang  out  after  them,  pointed  out 
the  kitchen  door,  and  said: 

"Stay  in  there  and  get  warm  till  I  come  back." 

"But — "  began  one. 

Ida  was  already  out  of  hearing,  and  the  men  whose  lives 

134 


IDA  LEWIS 

had  been  saved  did  as  they  had  been  told,  and  in  the  warm 
kitchen  awaited  the  coming  of  their  rescuer.  In  an  hour 
there  were  footsteps  outside,  the  door  opened,  and  a  glowing 
girl  stepped  in  out  of  the  bitter  gale,  stamping  her  almost 
frozen  feet  and  holding  out  her  benumbed  hands  to  the 
glowing  fire. 

"Well,  they  are  all  safe  on  land,"  she  said.  "I  think  they 
had  better  be  left  in  the  boat-house  overnight.  The  wind 
is  in  the  right  quarter  for  a  clear  day  to-morrow;  then  you 
can  put  out  again/' 

There  was  no  reply.  A  girl  like  this  keeper  of  the  Lime 
Rock  Light  left  no  room  for  pretty  compliments,  but  made 
a  man  feel  that  if  she  could  do  such  deeds  with  simple  cour 
age,  what  could  he  not  do  with  such  a  spirit  as  hers !  No  one 
ever  paid  Ida  Lewis  higher  praise  than  these  two  rough 
men  when,  on  leaving,  they  each  gripped  her  hand  and  the 
spokesman  said: 

"Whenever  I  see  your  light  shining,  I'll  put  up  a  prayer 
for  its  keeper,  and  thanking  you  for  what  you  did  for  us, 
ma'am — if  my  little  one's  a  girl,  she  will  be  Ida  Lewis!" 

Up  spoke  his  comrade:  "My  daughter's  twelve  year  old 
come  September  next,  and  I  hope  she'll  be  your  kind.  It  'd 
make  a  new  kind  of  a  world  to  have  such!" 

While  such  praise  did  not  turn  Ida's  very  level  head,  or 
make  her  vain,  it  gave  her  a  deep  satisfaction  and  a  tremen 
dous  sense  of  responsibility  in  her  beloved  occupation. 

Two  years  went  by,  and  Ida  Lewis  was  a  name  which 
commanded  respect  throughout  Rhode  Island  because  of 
her  work  for  the  government,  and  there  was  scarcely  a 
day  when  she  did  not  direct  some  wandering  boatman  or 
give  valuable  aid  to  a  distressed  seafarer,  but  from  the  day 
she  brought  the  men  and  their  load  of  sheep  to  shore  it  was 
a  year  before  there  was  any  need  of  such  aid  as  she  had  given 
them.  Then  on  a  day  never  to  be  forgotten  by  those  to 

135 


TEN  AMERICAN  GIRLS  FROM  HISTORY 

whose  rescue  she  went,  she  saw  two  of  the  soldiers  who  were 
stationed  at  Fort  Adams  rowing  toward  the  fort  from 
Newport.  A  young  lad  was  at  the  oars,  and  he  showed 
that  he  was  not  in  any  way  experienced  as  a  boatman.  A 
sudden  squall  overtook  the  small  boat  in  mid-bay,  and,  as 
Ida  Lewis  looked  at  it,  it  capsized.  At  the  moment  Ida 
happened  to  be  without  hat  or  coat,  or  even  shoes.  Rushing 
to  the  boat-house,  she  took  her  staunch  friend  to  the  shore, 
and  launched  out  in  the  wild  squall  under  an  inky-black  sky; 
and  she  had  to  row  against  a  wind  that  drove  her  back  time 
after  time.  Finally  she  reached  the  wreck,  only  to  find  the 
boy  had  gone  under.  The  soldiers  were  clinging  to  the 
bobbing  keel  of  the  boat,  and  Ida  grasped  them  with  a 
firm,  practised  hand,  while  at  the  same  time  managing  to 
keep  her  own  boat  near  enough  so  that  when  a  wave  washed 
them  together  she  was  able  to  help  the  exhausted  soldiers 
to  climb  into  it.  They  were  unable  to  speak,  and  one  of 
them  was  so  exhausted  that  she  feared  she  could  not  get  him 
to  land  in  time  to  resuscitate  him. 

With  wind-blown  hair,  and  eyes  dark  with  determination, 
she  rowed  as  she  had  never  rowed  before,  and  at  last  her  boat 
touched  the  rocky  home  ledge.  Out  she  jumped,  and  in  less 
time  than  it  takes  to  tell  it,  she  had  the  men  before  her 
fire,  wrapped  in  blankets.  One  of  them  was  unconscious 
for  such  a  long  time  that  his  rescuer  was  wondering  what  was 
best  to  do — to  take  the  risk  of  leaving  him  and  row  to  the 
mainland  for  a  doctor,  or  to  take  the  risk  of  doing  for  him 
with  her  own  inexperienced  hands.  Just  then  his  blue  eyes 
opened,  and  after  a  drink  of  stimulant  he  slowly  revived, 
and  at  last  was  able  to  talk  coherently.  The  storm  was  still 
raging  and  the  men  remained  on  the  lighthouse  ledge  with 
the  girl  rescuer,  for  whom  they  showed  open  admiration; 
then,  when  the  clouds  lifted  and  the  moon  shone  wanly 
through  the  rift,  they  took  their  own  boat  and  rowed  off 

136 


IDA  LEWIS 

to  the  fort.  But  they  were  staunch  friends  of  Ida  Lewis 
from  that  day,  and  she  enjoyed  many  a  chat  with  them, 
and  had  more  than  one  pleasant  afternoon  on  the  mainland 
with  them  when  they  were  off  duty. 

At  another  time  she  was  out  in  her  boat  in  a  bad  storm, 
when  through  the  dense  darkness  she  heard  cries  of,  "Help! 
help!"  and,  rowing  in  the  direction  from  which  the  cries 
came,  she  found  three  men  in  the  water  clinging  to  the  keel 
of  an  overturned  boat.  With  her  usual  promptness  in  an 
emergency,  she  dragged  them  all  into  her  boat  and  took  them 
to  shore.  Another  day,  from  the  lighthouse  tower,  she  saw 
the  slender  figure  of  a  man  clinging  to  a  spindle  which  was 
a  mile  and  a  half  from  the  lighthouse.  In  a  very  short  time 
he  would  be  too  exhausted  to  hold  on  any  longer.  She  must 
hurry,  hurry !  With  flying  feet  she  made  her  boat  ready;  with 
firm  strokes  she  rowed  out  to  the  spindle,  rescued  the  man 
and  bore  him  safely  to  shore. 

At  this  time  Ida  Lewis  was  so  well  known  as  being  always 
on  hand  in  any  emergency  that  it  was  taken  as  a  matter  of 
course  to  have  her  appear  out  of  the  sky,  as  one's  preserver, 
and  the  man,  though  extremely  grateful,  did  not  seem  as 
astonished  as  he  might  have  otherwise  been  to  be  saved 
from  such  a  death  by  a  young  girl  who  apparently  dropped 
from  the  skies  just  to  rescue  him. 

In  all  of  these  experiences,  when  she  was  able  to  save 
men's  lives  at  the  risk  of  her  own,  and  was  successful  by 
reason  of  her  quick  wit  and  self-forgetful  courage,  despite  the 
grave  chances  she  took,  she  never  had  a  single  fright  about 
her  own  safety,  but  simply  flew  across  the  bay  at  any  time 
of  day  or  night  at  the  sight  of  a  speck  on  the  water  which 
to  her  trained  eye  was  a  human  being  in  danger. 

Winter's  hand  had  laid  its  glittering  mantle  of  ice  on 
Baker's  Bay,  and  on  a  glorious  sunlit  morning  Ida  was 
ready  to  start  to  Newport  to  make  some  necessary  purchases. 

137 


TEN  AMERICAN  GIRLS  FROM  HISTORY 

When  she  was  just  about  to  push  her  boat  off  the  rocks 
she  looked  over  the  bay  with  the  intent,  piercing  glance  for 
which  she  was  famous  among  fisher-folk,  who  declared  she 
could  "see  out  of  the  back  of  her  head,"  and  caught  a  glimpse 
of  uniforms,  of  struggling  figures  in  that  part  of  the  bay 
which  was  so  shallow  as  to  be  always  frozen  in  mid-winter, 
and  which  the  soldiers  all  knew  to  be  dangerous  to  cross. 
But  there  were  two  of  them,  waving  their  arms  in  frantic 
appeal  for  help,  as  they  tried  to  keep  from  going  under  in 
the  icy  water  of  the  bay. 

There  was  not  a  moment  to  lose.  Ida  put  out  from  shore, 
rowed  swiftly  to  a  point  as  near  the  drowning  and  freezing 
men  as  was  possible,  then  with  her  oars  broke  the  ice  suffi 
ciently  to  make  a  channel  for  her  boat.  As  she  came  near 
to  them  she  found  that  the  insecure  ice,  melted  by  the  strong 
sun,  had  given  way  under  them,  while  they  were  evidently 
trying  to  take  a  short  cut  to  Fort  Adams  from  Newport. 

It  was  hard  work  and  quick  work  for  Ida's  experienced 
hands  to  get  them  into  the  life-boat;  and  so  nearly  frozen 
were  they  that  she  was  obliged  to  rest  on  her  oars,  at  the 
same  time  rubbing  their  numb  limbs  as  well  as  she  could. 
Then  she  rowed  for  shore  faster  than  she  had  ever  rowed 
but  once  before,  and,  as  she  told  afterward: 

"I  flew  for  restoratives  and  hot  water,  and  worked  so 
hard  and  so  fast,  rubbing  them  and  heating  them,  that  it  was 
not  long  before  they  came  to  life  again  and  were  sitting  up 
in  front  of  the  fire,  apologizing  for  their  folly,  and  promising 
that  they  would  never  again  give  me  such  a  piece  of  work 
to  do,  or  cross  the  bay  in  winter  at  a  point  where  they  knew 
it  was  a  risk."  She  added,  naively:  "They  were  as  penitent 
as  naughty  children,  so  I  took  advantage  of  it  and  gave  them 
a  lecture  on  things  soldiers  ought  not  to  do,  among  them 
drinking  whisky — even  with  the  good  excuse  of  being  cold 
— and  showing  them  quite  plainly  that  this  scare  they  had 

138 ' 


IDA  LEWIS 

had  came  from  that  bad  habit.  They  seemed  very  sorry, 
and  when  they  got  up  to  go,  they  saluted  me  as  if  I  were 
their  captain.  Then  off  they  went  to  the  fort." 

Several  days  later  she  received  a  letter  of  thanks  from 
the  officers  at  Fort  Adams,  and  a  gold  watch  from  the 
men  she  had  rescued  "in  grateful  appreciation  of  a  woman's 
heroism." 

On  through  the  long  years  Ida  Lewis,  with  hair  growing 
slowly  a  little  grayer,  and  with  arms  a  little  less  equal  to 
the  burden  of  rowing  a  heavy  boat  through  fierce  winter 
gales,  was  faithful  to  her  duties  as  keeper  of  the  light,  now 
never  spoken  of  as  the  Lime  Rock  Light,  but  always  as  the 
Ida  Lewis  Light;  and,  although  she  was  always  averse  to 
notoriety,  yet  she  was  forced  to  accept  the  penalty  of  her 
brave  deeds,  and  welcome  the  thousands  of  tourists  who 
now  swarmed  daily  over  the  promontory  and  insisted  on  a 
personal  talk  with  the  keeper  of  the  light.  Had  it  not  been 
for  Mrs.  Lewis,  both  aged  and  feeble,  but  able  to  meet  and 
show  the  visitors  over  the  island,  Ida  would  have  had  no 
privacy  at  all  and  no  time  for  her  work. 

Although  she  always  disliked  praise  or  publicity,  yet  she 
accepted  official  recognition  of  her  faithful  work  with  real 
appreciation,  and  it  was  touching  to  see  her  joy  when  one 
day  she  received  a  letter  bearing  the  signature  of  the  Secre 
tary  of  the  Treasury,  notifying  her  that  the  gold  life-saving 
medal  had  been  awarded  to  her — and  stating  that  she  was 
the  only  woman  in  America  upon  whom  the  honor  had  been 
conferred!  At  a  later  date  she  also  received  three  silver 
medals:  gifts  from  the  State  of  Rhode  Island,  and  from  the 
Humane  Society  of  Massachusetts,  and  also  from  the  New 
York  Life-Saving  Association.  All  these  recognitions  of  her 
achievements  Ida  Lewis  received  with  shining  eyes  and  won 
der  that  such  praise  should  have  come  to  her  for  the 
simple  performance  of  her  duty.  "Any  one  would  rescue  a 

139 


TEN  AMERICAN  GIRLS  FROM  HISTORY 

drowning  man,  of  course,"  she  said.  "I  just  happen  to  be 
where  I  see  them  first!" 

But  although  she  was  so  modest,  and  although  so  many 
honors  were  heaped  upon  her,  none  ever  meant  to  her  what 
the  first  expression  of  public  appreciation  meant,  shown  by 
the  citizens  of  Rhode  Island. 

An  invitation  had  been  sent  to  her,  asking  her  to  be  pres 
ent  at  the  Custom-House  at  Newport  on  a  certain  day  in 
1869.  She  accepted  the  invitation,  and  went  at  the  ap 
pointed  hour  without  much  thought  about  the  matter. 
When  she  reached  the  Custom-House,  to  her  surprise  a  com 
mittee  of  prominent  Newport  residents  met  her  and  escorted 
her  to  a  seat  on  the  platform,  from  which  she  looked  down 
on  a  vast  audience,  all  staring  with  evident  curiosity  at  the 
slight,  dark-haired  woman  in  whose  honor  the  throng  had 
come  together.  There  were  speeches  so  filled  with  praise 
of  her  deeds  that  Ida  Lewis  would  have  liked  to  fly  from  the 
sight  of  the  applauding  crowd;  but  instead  must  sit  and 
listen.  The  speeches  at  an  end,  there  was  a  moment's  pause; 
then  she  found  herself  on  her  feet,  amid  a  chorus  of  cheers, 
being  presented  with  a  magnificent  new  life-boat,  the  Rescue, 
a  gift  from  the  citizens  of  Newport  as  a  slight  recognition  of 
her  acts  of  bravery. 

Ida  never  knew  all  she  said  in  response  to  the  presenta 
tion  speech;  she  only  knew  that  tears  streamed  down  her 
cheeks  as  she  gripped  a  man's  hand  and  said,  "Thank  you, 
thank  you — I  don't  deserve  it!"  over  and  over  again,  while 
the  audience  stood  up  and  applauded  to  the  echo.  As  if 
that  were  not  enough  to  overcome  any  young  woman,  as  she 
left  the  building,  James  Fisk,  Jr.,  approached  her  and, 
grasping  her  hand  warmly,  told  her  that  there  was  to  be  a 
new  boat-house  built  back  of  the  light,  large  enough  for  her 
beautiful  new  boat. 

It  was  late  that  night  before  Ida  fell  asleep,  lulled  at  last 

140 


IDA  LEWIS 

by  the  wind  and  the  lapping  of  the  waves,  and  thinking  with 
intense  happiness  not  of  her  own  achievements,  but  of  the 
pride  and  joy  with  which  her  mother  received  the  account 
of  her  daughter's  ovation  and  gift,  and  her  words  rang  in 
Ida's  ears  above  the  noise  of  the  waters,  "Your  father  would 
be  so  proud,  dear!" 

For  fifty-three  years  Ida  Lewis  remained  the  faithful 
keeper  of  her  beloved  light,  and  because  of  her  healthy,  out- 
of-door  life  we  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  woman  of  sixty-five 
which  reminds  us  strongly  of  the  girl  who  led  the  way  to 
the  lighthouse. point  on  that  day  in  1841,  to  show  her  new 
home  to  her  school-mates.  In  the  face  of  howling  winds  and 
winter  gales  she  had  snatched  twenty-three  lives  from  the 
jaws  of  death,  and  in  her  sixty-fifth  year  she  was  at  her  old 
work. 

A  woman  had  rowed  out  to  the  light  from  Newport,  and 
when  her  boat  had  almost  reached  the  pier  which  had  been 
erected  recently  on  the  island  shore,  she  rashly  stood  on 
her  feet,  lost  her  balance  and  fell  overboard.  Ida  Lewis, 
who  was  rowing  in  near  the  pier,  instantly  came  to  the 
rescue,  helped  the  struggling  and  much  frightened  woman 
into  her  own  boat,  and  then  picked  up  the  other  one,  which 
was  drifting  away. 

Sixty-five  years  young,  and  heroic  from  earliest  girlhood 
to  latest  old  age!  We  add  our  tribute  to  those  heaped  on 
her  head  by  many  who  knew  her  in  person  and  others  who 
were  acquainted  only  with  her  heroic  acts,  and  we  rejoice 
to  know  that  in  this  year  of  American  crisis  we,  too,  can 
reflect  the  heroism  of  the  keeper  of  Lime  Rock  Light,  for  in 
our  hands  are  greater  opportunities  for  wide  service  and 
greater  variety  of  instruments  by  which  to  mold  the  des 
tiny  of  nations  and  save  life.  Proud  are  we  that  we,  too, 
are  American,  as  was  Ida  Lewis,  and  we  can  give  interest 
as  consecrated  and  sincere  to  the  work  at  our  hand  to-day 

141 


TEN  AMERICAN  GIRLS  FROM  HISTORY 

as  she  gave,  whose  daily  precepts  were  work  and  thrift,  and 
who  said,  in  her  quaint  way,  of  the  light  which  had  been  her 
beacon  of  inspiration  for  so  many  years  of  service: 

"The  light  is  my  child  and  I  know  when  it  needs  me,  even 
if  I  sleep.  This  is  home  to  me,  and  I  hope  the  good  Lord 
will  take  me  away  when  I  have  to  leave  it." 

Her  wish  was  granted.  In  the  last  week  of  October, 
1911,  she  fell  asleep  in  the  lighthouse  on  Lime  Rock,  which 
had  been  her  home  for  so  long,  lulled  into  an  eternal  repose 
by  the  wind  and  waves,  which  had  for  many  years  been 
her  beloved  companions — and  as  she  slept  the  beacon-light 
which  she  had  for  so  long  kept  trimmed  and  burning  sent 
out  its  rays  far  beyond  the  little  bay  where  Ida  Lewis  lay 
asleep. 

Patriotism,  faithfulness,  service — who  can  reckon  their 
value  ?  The  gleam  of  Ida  Lewis's  light  flashes  inspiration  and 
determination  to  our  hearts  to-day. 


CLARA  BARTON:    "THE  ANGEL  OF  THE 
BATTLEFIELDS" 

FOR  several  weeks  the  sound  of  hammer  and  saw  had 
been  heard  on  the  Barton  farm  where  a  new  barn  was 
being  built.  The  framework  was  almost  up,  and  David 
Barton  and  his  little  sister  Clara,  with  a  group  of  friends, 
were  eagerly  watching  the  carpenters,  who  were  just  fixing 
the  high  rafters  to  the  ridge-pole. 

"I  dare  you  to  climb  to  the  top,  Dave!"  suddenly  chal 
lenged  a  boy  in  the  group. 

David  Barton,  who  was  known  as  the  "Buffalo  Bill"  of 
the  neighborhood,  always  took  a  dare.  Almost  before  the 
challenge  had  been  given  his  coat  was  off  and  he  had 
started  toward  the  new  building  amid  a  chorus  of  cries: 
"Good  for  you,  Dave!"  from  the  group  of  young  specta 
tors  who  were  always  thrilled  by  his  daring  exploits.  Only 
the  little  sister  Clara  protested. 

"Don't,  David,"  she  exclaimed.     "It  isn't  safe." 

Her  warning  was  not  heeded.  Up  went  the  sure-footed 
athlete  until  he  had  almost  reached  the  topmost  peak  of 
the  barn.  Crash!  a  board  gave  way  under  his  feet,  and  down 
to  the  ground  he  was  hurled,  landing  on  his  back  on  a  pile 
of  heavy  boards.  Limp  and  lifeless  he  lay  there,  a  strange 
contrast  to  the  vigorous  young  man  who  had  climbed  up 
the  building  only  a  few  moments  earlier,  and  the  accident 
seemed  to  paralyze  the  faculties  of  those  who  saw  it  happen. 
It  was  not  the  builders  or  the  older  persons  present  who  spoke 


TEN  AMERICAN  GIRLS  FROM  HISTORY 

first,  but  small,  dark-eyed,  determined  Clara,  who  idolized 
her  brother. 

"Get  mother,  and  go  for  the  doctor,  quick !"  she  com 
manded,  and  in  less  time  than  it  takes  to  tell  it  the  entire 
Barton  family  had  been  summoned  to  the  scene  of  the  dis 
aster,  and  a  doctor  was  bending  over  the  unconscious  man. 

Dorothy  and  Sally,  the  grown-up  sisters,  hastily  obeyed 
the  doctor's  orders,  and  made  a  room  in  the  farm-house 
ready  for  their  injured  brother,  while  Stephen  Barton  and 
one  of  the  workmen  carried  him  in  as  gently  as  possible  and 
laid  him  on  the  bed  which  he  was  not  to  leave  for  many 
weary  months.  Examination  proved  that  the  injury  was  a 
serious  one,  and  there  was  need  of  careful  and  continuous 
nursing.  To  the  surprise  of  the  whole  family,  who  looked 
on  eleven-year-old  Clara,  the  youngest  of  them  all,  as  still 
a  baby,  when  Mrs.  Barton  made  ready  to  take  charge  of  the 
sick-room,  she  found  a  resolute  little  figure  seated  by  the 
bedside,  with  determination  to  remain  there  showing  on 
every  line  of  her  expressive  face. 

"Let  me  take  care  of  him !  I  can  do  it — I  want  to.  Please, 
oh,  please!"  pleaded  Clara. 

At  first  the  coveted  permission  was  denied  her,  for  how 
could  a  girl  so  young  take  care  of  a  dangerously  injured  man? 
But  as  the  weary  days  and  nights  of  watching  wore  away 
and  it  seemed  as  if  there  would  be  no  end  to  them,  from 
sheer  exhaustion  the  older  members  of  the  family  yielded 
their  places  temporarily  to  Clara.  Then  one  day  when  the 
doctor  came  and  found  her  in  charge,  the  sick-room  was  so 
tidy  and  quiet,  and  the  young  nurse  was  so  clear-minded 
and  ready  to  obey  his  slightest  order,  that  when  she  begged 
him  to  let  her  take  care  of  her  brother  he  gave  his  hearty 
permission,  and  Clara  had  won  her  way. 

From  that  time  on,  through  long  months,  she  was  the 
member  of  the  family  whose  entire  thought  and  care  was 

144 


CLARA  BARTON 

centered  in  the  invalid.  David  was  very  sick  for  such  a  long 
time  that  it  seemed  as  if  he  could  never  rally,  and  his  one 
great  comfort  was  having  Clara  near  him.  Hour  after  hour, 
and  day  after  day,  she  sat  by  his  bedside,  his  thin  hand 
clasped  in  her  strong  one,  with  the  patience  of  a  much  older, 
wiser  nurse.  She  practically  shut  herself  up  in  that  sick 
room  for  two  whole  years,  and  it  seemed  as  if  there  was 
nothing  too  hard  for  her  to  do  well  and  quickly,  if  in  any  way 
it  would  make  David  more  comfortable.  Finally  a  new 
kind  of  baths  was  tried  with  success.  David  was  cured,  and 
Clara  Barton  had  served  her  earliest  apprenticeship  as  a 
nurse. 

Let  us  look  back  and  see  what  went  into  the  making  of 
an  eleven-year-old  child  who  would  give  two  years  of  her 
life  to  a  task  like  that. 

On  Christmas  Day  of  the  year  1821,  Clarissa  Harlowe,  as 
she  was  named,  or  "Clara"  Barton,  as  she  was  always 
called,  was  born  in  her  father's  home  near  the  town  of  Ox 
ford,  Worcester  County,  Massachusetts.  Her  oldest  sister 
Dorothy  was  seventeen  at  that  time,  and  her  oldest  brother 
Stephen,  fifteen,  while  David  was  thirteen  and  Sally  ten 
years  old;  so  it  was  a  long  time  since  there  had  been  a  baby 
in  the  family,  and  all  were  so  delighted  over  the  event  that 
Clara  Barton  says  in  her  Recollections,  "I  am  told  the  family 
jubilation  upon  the  occasion  was  so  great  that  the  entire 
dinner  and  tea  sets  had  to  be  changed  for  the  serving  of  the 
noble  guests  who  gathered/' 

The  house  in  which  the  Christmas  child  was  born  was  a 
simple  farm-house  on  a  hill-top,  and  inside  nearly  everything 
was  home-made,  even  the  crib  in  which  the  baby  was 
cradled.  Outside,  the  flat  flagstone  in  front  of  the  door  was 
marked  by  the  hand  tools  of  the  father.  Stephen  Barton, 
or  Captain  Barton  as  he  was  called,  was  a  man  of  marked 
military  tastes,  who  had  served  under  "Mad  Anthony" 

H5 


TEN  AMERICAN  GIRLS   FROM  HISTORY 

Wayne  in  campaigns  against  the  Indians.  In  his  youngest 
daughter  Clara  he  found  a  real  comrade,  and,  perched  on 
his  knee,  she  early  gained  a  passionate  love  of  her  country 
and  a  child's  simple  knowledge  of  its  history  through  the 
thrilling  tales  he  told  her.  In  speaking  of  those  days  she  says : 

"I  listened  breathlessly  to  his  war  stories.  Illustrations 
were  called  for,  and  we  made  battles  and  fought  them. 
Every  shade  of  military  etiquette  was  regarded.  Colonels, 
captains,  and  sergeants  were  given  their  proper  place  and 
rank.  So  with  the  political  world;  the  President,  Cabinet, 
and  leading  officers  of  the  government  were  learned  by 
heart,  and  nothing  gratified  the  keen  humor  of  my  father 
more  than  the  parrot-like  readiness  with  which  I  lisped 
these  difficult  names."  That  they  did  not  mean  much  even 
to  such  a  precocious  child  as  Clara  Barton  is  shown  by  an 
incident  of  those  early  days,  when  her  sister  Dorothy  asked 
her  how  she  supposed  a  Vice-President  looked. 

"I  suppose  he  is  about  as  big  as  our  barn,  and  green !" 
was  the  quick  reply. 

But  though  the  child  did  not  understand  all  that  was 
poured  into  her  greedy  little  mind  by  an  eager  father,  yet 
it  bore  fruit  in  later  years,  for  she  says :  "When  later  I  .  .  . 
was  suddenly  thrust  into  the  mysteries  of  war,  and  had  to 
take  my  place  and  part  in  it,  I  found  myself  far  less  a 
stranger  to  the  conditions  than  most  women,  or  even  ordi 
nary  men,  for  that  matter.  I  never  addressed  a  colonel 
as  captain,  got  my  cavalry  on  foot,  or  mounted  my  infan 
try!" 

When  she  was  not  listening  to  her  father's  stones  or  help 
ing  her  mother  with  the  housework,  which,  good  housewife 
that  Mrs.  Barton  was,  she  took  great  pains  to  teach  her 
youngest  daughter  how  to  do  well,  Clara  was  as  busy  as 
possible  in  some  other  way.  In  that  household  there  were 
no  drones,  and  the  little  girl  was  not  even  allowed  to  waste 

146 


CLARA  BARTON 

time  in  playing  with  dolls,  although  she  was  given  time  to 
take  care  of  her  pets,  of  which  she  had  an  ever-increasing 
collection,  including  dogs,  cats,  geese,  hens,  turkeys,  and 
even  two  heifers  which  she  learned  to  milk. 

Dorothy,  Sally  and  Stephen  Barton  were  teachers,  and 
as  Clara  early  showed  her  quick  mentality,  they  all  took 
great  interest  in  educating  her  according  to  their  different 
ideas.  As  a  result,  when  the  little  girl  was  three  years  old 
she  could  read  a  story  to  herself,  and  knew  a  little  bit  about 
geography,  arithmetic  and  spelling.  That  decided  the  fam 
ily.  Such  a  bright  mind  must  be  developed  as  early  as 
possible.  So  on  a  fine,  clear  winter  morning  Stephen  lifted 
her  to  his  shoulders  with  a  swing  of  his  strong  arms,  and 
in  that  way  she  rode  to  the  school  taught  by  Col.  Richard 
C.  Stone,  a  mile  and  a  half  from  the  Barton  farm.  Although 
the  new  pupil  was  such  a  very  little  girl,  and  so  shy  that  often 
she  was  not  able  even  to  answer  when  she  was  spoken  to 
or  to  join  the  class  in  reciting  Bible  verses  or  in  singing 
songs,  yet  Colonel  Stone  was  deeply  interested  in  her,  and 
his  manner  of  teaching  was  so  unusual  that  the  years  with 
him  made  a  lasting  impression  on  his  youngest  scholar's 
mind.  To  Clara  it  was  a  real  loss  when,  at  the  end  of  five 
years,  the  Colonel  left  the  school,  to  be  succeeded  by  Clara's 
sisters  in  summer  and  by  her  brother  Stephen  in  winter. 

David  was  Clara's  favorite  brother.  So  athletic  was  he, 
and  so  fond  of  all  forms  of  out-of-door  life  and  exercise,  that 
he  was  no  less  than  a  hero  to  the  little  sister,  who  watched 
him  with  intense  admiration,  and  in  her  secret  heart  deter 
mined  that  some  day  and  in  some  way  she,  too,  would  be 
brave  and  daring. 

Having  decided  this  in  her  own  mind,  when  David  sug 
gested  teaching  her  to  ride,  she  was  delighted,  and,  hiding 
her  fear,  at  once  took  her  first  lesson  on  one  of  the  beautiful 
blooded  colts  which  were  a  feature  of  her  father's  farm. 
»  147 


TEN  AMERICAN  GIRLS  FROM  HISTORY 

In  her  Story  of  My  Childhood  she  says:  "It  was  David's 
delight  to  take  me,  a  little  girl  five  years  old,  to  the  field, 
seize  a  couple  of  those  beautiful  grazing  creatures,  broken 
only  to  the  halter  and  bit,  and,  gathering  the  reins  of  both 
bridles  in  one  hand,  throw  me  on  the  back  of  one  colt, 
spring  on  the  other  himself,  and,  catching  me  by  the  foot 
and  bidding  me  'cling  fast  to  the  mane/  gallop  away  over 
field  and  fen,  in  and  out  among  the  other  colts,  in  wild  glee 
like  ourselves.  They  were  merry  rides  we  took.  This  was 
my  riding-school.  I  never  had  any  other,  but  it  served  me 
well.  .  .  .  Sometimes  in  later  years  when  I  found  myself 
on  a  strange  horse,  in  a  troop  saddle,  flying  for  life  or  liberty 
in  front  of  pursuit,  I  blessed  the  baby  lessons  of  the  wild 
gallops  among  the  colts." 

And  so  it  was  that  the  child  grew  strong  in  body  and 
alert  in  mind,  while  the  routine  of  daily  farm  duties,  when 
she  was  not  at  school  or  galloping  over  the  fields  with 
David,  developed  her  in  concentration  and  in  inventive 
ability.  Housekeeping  at  that  time  was  crude,  and  most  of 
the  necessary  articles  used  were  made  at  home.  There  were 
no  matches.  The  flint  snapped  by  the  lock  was  the  only  way  of 
lighting  a  fire.  Garments  were  homespun,  and  home-made 
food  was  dried,  canned  and  cooked  in  large  quantities  by 
the  busy  housekeeper.  Although  there  was  always  a  fire 
blazing  on  the  hearth  of  the  home,  it  was  thought  to  be  a 
religious  duty  to  have  the  meeting-house  unheated  on  the 
Sabbath  day.  Little  Clara,  who  was  particularly  susceptible 
to  cold,  bore  the  bitter  chill  of  the  building  as  bravely  as  she 
could,  each  week  in  the  long  winter,  but  one  Sunday  as  she 
sat  in  the  big  pew,  not  daring  to  swing  her  feet,  they  grew 
more  and  more  numb  until  at  last,  when  she  was  obliged  to 
stand  on  them,  she  fell  over — her  poor  little  feet  were 
frozen,  and  she  had  to  be  carried  home  and  thawed  out! 

When  she  was  eight  years  old  her  father  left  his  hill  farm 

148 


CLARA  BARTON 

and  moved  down  to  the  Learned  house,  a  much  bigger  farm 
of  three  hundred  acres,  with  the  brook -like  French  river 
winding  through  its  broad  meadows,  and  three  great  barns 
standing  in  the  lowlands  between  the  hill  and  the  house. 
Stephen  and  David  remained  on  the  hill  to  work  their  small 
farms  there,  and  the  other  sisters  stayed  there,  but  Clara 
was  not  lonesome  in  the  new  home  in  the  valley,  for  at  that 
time  she  had  as  playmates  the  four  children  of  Captain 
Barton's  nephew,  who  had  recently  died.  With  them  Clara 
played  hide-and-seek  in  the  big  hay-mows,  and  other  inter 
esting  games.  Her  most  marked  characteristic  then  and  for 
many  years  afterward  was  her  excessive  shyness,  yet  when 
there  was  anything  to  do  which  did  not  include  conversation 
she  was  always  the  champion.  At  times  she  was  so  bashful 
that  even  speaking  to  an  intimate  friend  was  often  an  agony 
to  her,  and  it  is  said  she  once  stayed  home  from  meeting  on 
Sunday  rather  than  tell  her  mother  that  her  gloves  were  too 
worn  out  to  wear! 

Inside  the  new  house  she  found  many  fascinating  things 
to  do,  and  did  them  with  eager  interest.  The  house  was  being 
redecorated,  and  Clara  went  from  room  to  room,  watching 
the  workmen,  and  even  learned  to  grind  and  mix  paints. 
Then  she  turned  her  attention  to  the  paperers,  who  were  so 
much  amused  with  the  child's  cleverness  that  they  showed 
her  how  to  match,  trim  and  hang  paper,  and  in  every  room 
they  good-naturedly  let  her  paste  up  some  piece  of  the  deco 
ration,  so  she  felt  that  the  house  was  truly  hers,  and  never 
lost  her  affection  for  it  in  any  of  her  later  wanderings  or 
changes  of  residence. 

When  the  new  home  was  completed  inside  Clara  turned 
her  attention  to  out-of-door  matters  and  found  more  than 
one  opportunity  for  daring  feats.  With  shining  eyes  and 
bated  breath,  she  learned  to  cross  the  little  winding  French 
river  on  teetering  logs  at  its  most  dangerous  depths.  When 

149 


TEN  AMERICAN  GIRLS  FROM  HISTORY 

this  grew  tame,  she  would  go  to  the  sawmill  and  ride  out  on 
the  saw  carriage  twenty  feet  above  the  stream,  and  be  pulled 
back  on  the  returning  log,  and  oh  the  joy  of  such  dangerous 
sport! 

By  the  time  she  was  eleven  years  old  her  brothers  had  been 
so  successful  with  their  hill  farms  that  they  followed  their 
father  down  to  the  valley  of  the  river,  where  they  bought 
the  sawmill  and  built  new  dams  and  a  grain-mill,  and  Sally 
and  Stephen,  who  both  married,  settled  in  homes  near  the 
Barton  farm.  Then  came  the  building  of  the  new  barn  and 
David's  accident.  Eleven-year-old  Clara,  a  child  in  years 
but  mature  mentally,  proved  equal  to  the  emergency  and 
took  up  her  role  of  nurse  in  the  same  vigorous  way  she  went 
about  everything — but  she  had  to  pay  a  high  price  for  her 
devotion. 

David  was  strong  and  well  again,  but  the  little  sister  who 
had  been  his  constant  companion  through  the  weary  months 
was  far  from  normal.  The  family  had  been  so  occupied  with 
the  invalid  that  no  thought  had  been  given  to  his  young 
nurse.  Now  with  grave  concern  Captain  Barton  talked  with 
his  wife. 

"She  has  not  gained  an  ounce  in  weight  in  these  two 
years,"  he  said,  "and  she  isn't  an  inch  taller.  If  anything, 
she  seems  to  be  more  morbidly  self-conscious  and  shy  than 
ever.  What  shall  we  do  with  her?" 

That  was  the  question.  The  years  shut  up  in  the  sick 
room  had  completely  unfitted  Clara  for  ordinary  life;  she 
seemed  to  be  more  afraid  of  speaking  to  any  one,  more  afraid 
of  being  seen  or  talked  to  than  ever  before.  All  took  a  hand 
at  helping  her  to  forget  herself.  Sally,  who  knew  what  an 
imaginative  nature  her  small  sister  had,  interested  her  in 
reading  poetry,  which  was  a  delight  to  Clara.  At  the  same 
time  her  father  and  brothers  kept  her  out-of-doors  as  much 
as  possible,  and  her  father  gave  her  a  fine  horse  of  her  own. 

150 


CLARA  BARTON 

She  named  him  Billy,  and  at  once  jumped  on  his  back  to 
get  acquainted.  From  that  time  the  slim,  graceful  animal 
with  his  youthful  rider  became  one  of  the  features  of  the 
neighborhood  as  they  galloped  across  country.  But,  despite 
all  that  was  done  to  make  her  healthy  and  happy,  her  self- 
consciousness  and  shyness  remained,  and  another  way  of 
curing  her  was  tried.  She  was  sent  to  the  boarding-school 
which  was  kept  by  her  old  teacher,  Colonel  Stone.  He  was 
delighted  to  have  her  in  the  school,  and  her  quick  mind  was 
an  amazement  to  him;  but  she  was  so  homesick  that  often 
it  was  impossible  for  her  to  study  or  to  recite,  while  being 
with  one  hundred  and  fifty  girls  of  her  own  age  made  her 
more  bashful  than  ever.  In  despair,  Colonel  Stone  advised 
her  father  to  take  her  home  before  she  became  seriously 
sick,  and  soon  she  found  herself  again  in  her  beloved  haunts. 
After  that  time  her  brother  Stephen  taught  her  mathe 
matics;  and  later,  when  two  fine  teachers  came  to  Oxford, 
she  studied  Latin,  philosophy  and  chemistry  with  them, 
besides  literature,  history  and  languages — finding  herself  far 
ahead  of  the  other  scholars  of  her  age,  although  she  had 
been  buried  in  a  sick-room  for  two  years. 

As  long  as  she  was  busy  she  was  contented,  but  when  vaca 
tion  came  she  was  again  miserable.  Her  active  mind  and 
body  demanded  constant  work;  when  she  did  not  have  it 
she  was  simply  wretched,  and  made  those  around  her  so. 

One  day,  when  she  was  in  her  brother's  mill  watching 
the  busy  weavers,  she  had  a  sudden  desire  to  work  a  loom 
herself.  When  she  mentioned  this  at  home  her  mother  was 
horrified,  but  Stephen,  who  understood  her  restless  nature 
better,  took  Clara's  side  and  a  few  days  later  she  proudly 
took  her  place  before  her  loom  and  with  enthusiastic  per 
sistence  mastered  the  mysteries  of  the  flying  shuttle.  How 
long  she  would  have  kept  on  with  the  work  cannot  be  guessed, 
for  on  the  fifteenth  day  after  she  began  work  the  mill  burned 


TEN  AMERICAN  GIRLS  FROM  HISTORY 

down,  and  she  was  again  on  the  look-out  for  new  employ 
ment  for  her  active  brain  and  body. 

That  she  was  a  real  girl  was  shown  when,  having  discov 
ered  that  she  had  no  summer  hat,  she  decided  she  must 
have  one.  Walking  through  the  rye-fields,  she  had  an  idea. 
With  quick  interest  in  a  new  accomplishment,  she  cut  a 
number  of  green  rye  stalks,  carried  them  into  the  house  and 
scalded  them,  then  laid  them  out  in  the  sun  to  bleach,  and 
when  they  were  white,  she  cut  them  into  even  lengths, 
pulled  them  apart  with  her  teeth,  braided  them  in  eleven 
strands  and  made  the  first  straw  bonnet  she  ever  owned. 

Somehow  or  other  the  months  of  vacation  wore  away; 
then  the  question  was,  what  to  do  next?  Her  nature  de 
manded  constant  action.  She  was  far  ahead  of  others  of 
her  own  age  in  the  matter  of  studies,  and  Mrs.  Barton  was 
in  real  bewilderment  as  to  what  to  do  with  her  youngest 
child.  A  phrenologist,  who  was  a  keen  observer  of  child 
nature,  was  visiting  the  Bartons  at  that  time,  and  Clara, 
who  had  the  mumps  and  was  lying  on  the  lounge  in  the 
adjoining  room,  heard  her  mother  tell  their  guest  of  her 
daughter's  restlessness  and  self-consciousness  and  ask  his 
advice.  Listening  eagerly,  she  heard  his  reply: 

"The  sensitive  nature  will  always  remain,"  he  said.  "She 
will  never  assert  herself  for  herself;  she  will  suffer  wrong 
first.  But  for  others  she  will  be  perfectly  fearless.  Throw 
responsibility  upon  her.  Give  her  a  school  to  teach. " 

The  very  words,  "give  her  a  school  to  teach/'  sent  a  shiver 
of  fear  through  Clara's  frame,  as  she  lay  there  listening, 
but  at  the  same  time  she  felt  a  thrill  of  pleasure  at  the  idea 
of  doing  something  so  important  as  teaching.  If  her  mother 
was  so  much  troubled  about  her  peculiar  traits  as  to  be 
obliged  to  talk  them  over  with  a  stranger,  they  must  be 
very  hard  to  bear.  She  would  set  to  work  to  be  something 
quite  different,  and  she  would  begin  at  once! 

152 


CLARA  BARTON 

And  so  it  happened  that  when  Clara  Barton  was  fifteen 
years  old  she  followed  in  the  footsteps  of  her  brother  and 
sisters  and  became  a  teacher.  As  soon  as  she  decided  to 
take  the  step,  she  was  given  District  School  No.  9,  up  in 
"Texas  village,"  and  in  May,  1836,  "after  passing  the  teach 
ers'  examination  with  a  mark  of  'excellent,'  she  put  down 
her  skirts  and  put  up  her  hair  and  walked  to  the  little  school- 
house,  to  face  and  address  her  forty  scholars."  That  was 
one  of  the  most  awful  moments  of  her  life.  When  the  rows 
of  pupils  were  ranged  before  her,  and  she  was  supposed  to 
open  the  exercises  by  reading  from  the  Bible,  she  could  not 
find  her  voice,  and  her  hand  trembled  so  visibly  that  she 
was  afraid  to  turn  the  pages  and  so  disclose  her  panic. 
But  no  one  knew.  With  perfect  outward  calmness,  she 
kept  her  eyes  on  the  open  book  until  her  pulse  beat  less  fast, 
then  she  looked  straight  ahead  and  in  a  steady  voice  asked 
them  to  each  read  a  verse  in  turn.  This  was  a  new  and 
delightful  plan  to  her  pupils,  who  were  still  more  pleased 
when  the  reading  was  over  to  have  the  new  teacher  question 
them  in  a  friendly  way  about  the  meaning  of  the  verses 
they  had  just  read  in  the  "Sermon  on  the  Mount." 

That  first  day  proved  her  marked  ability  as  a  teacher,  and 
so  kindly  and  intimate  was  she  with  her  scholars  that  they 
became  more  her  comrades  than  her  pupils.  When  the  four 
rough  boys  of  the  school  "tried  her  out"  to  see  how  much 
she  could  endure,  to  their  astonishment,  instead  of  being 
able  to  lock  her  out  of  the  building  as  they  had  done  with 
the  previous  teacher,  she  showed  such  pluck  and  physical 
strength  that  their  respect  was  won  and  kept.  After  that, 
almost  daily,  at  recess  time  she  would  join  them  in  games 
such  as  no  teacher  had  ever  played  with  them  before.  And 
with  her  success  Clara  gained  a  new  assurance  and  a  less 
shy  manner,  although  she  never  entirely  lost  her  self-con 
sciousness. 

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TEN  AMERICAN  GIRLS  FROM  HISTORY 

So  successful  was  she  with  that  first  school  that  it  was 
the  preface  to  sixteen  years  of  continuous  teaching,  winter 
and  summer.  Her  two  most  interesting  experiences  as 
a  teacher  were  in  North  Oxford  and  in  Bordentown, 
New  Jersey.  North  Oxford  was  the  mill  village  where 
her  brother's  factories  were,  and  where  there  were  hun 
dreds  of  children.  When  her  popularity  as  the  teacher 
in  No.  9,  Texas  village,  spread  to  North  Oxford,  she  was 
asked  to  go  there  to  start  a  school  for  operatives.  This 
was  a  piece  of  work  to  her  liking,  and  for  ten  years  she 
says:  "I  stood  with  them  in  the  crowded  school -room 
summer  and  winter,  without  change  or  relaxation.  I  saw 
my  little  lisping  boys  become  overseers,  and  my  stalwart 
overseers  become  business  men  and  themselves  owners  of 
mills.  My  little  girls  grew  to  be  teachers  and  mothers 
of  families."  Here  was  satisfying  work  for  the  busy  brain 
and  active  body!  But  even  that  did  not  take  up  all  of 
her  time;  she  found  long  hours  in  which  to  read  and 
study,  and  also  acted  as  Stephen's  bookkeeper  in  the  mill, 
during  those  years  in  North  Oxford. 

At  the  end  of  the  ten  years  she  broke  away  from  the 
routine  of  teaching  and  became  a  pupil  herself  in  Clinton 
Liberal  Institute  in  New  York,  as  there  were  no  colleges  for 
women  at  that  time.  The  year  of  study  refreshed  her  in 
mind  and  body,  and,  as  her  mother  died  during  the  year 
and  her  father  decided  to  live  with  his  married  children, 
Clara  was  free  to  seek  the  work  of  the  world  wherever  it 
should  claim  her. 

From  the  seminary  she  went  to  Hightstown  to  teach, 
and  while  there  rumors  of  her  ability  to  cope  with  conditions 
and  unruly  scholars  reached  the  village  of  Bordentown,  ten 
miles  away  from  Hightstown.  Many  attempts  had  been 
made  to  start  a  public  school  there,  but  without  success. 
As  a  result  the  children  of  the  poor  ran  wild  in  the  streets, 

154 


CLARA  BARTON 

or  when  an  attempt  was  made  to  open  a  school  they  broke 
up  the  sessions  by  their  lawless  behavior.  When  she  heard 
this,  Clara  Barton  was  so  greatly  interested  that  she  went 
to  Bordentown  to  talk  it  over  with  the  town  officials,  who 
told  her  that  it  was  useless  to  think  of  making  the  experi 
ment  again. 

Clara  Barton's  eyes  flashed  with  determination.  "Give 
me  three  months,  and  I  will  teach  free!"  she  said. 

As  a  result  of  her  generous  offer,  she  was  allowed  to  rent 
a  tumble-down,  unoccupied  building,  and  opened  her  school 
with  six  pupils!  Every  one  of  the  six  became  so  enthusiastic 
over  a  teacher  who  was  interested  in  each  individual  that 
their  friends  were  eager  to  be  her  pupils,  too,  and  parents 
were  anxious  to  see  what  the  wonderful  little  bright-eyed, 
friendly  woman  could  do  for  their  children.  At  the  end  of 
five  weeks  the  building  was  too  small  for  her  scholars,  and 
the  roll-call  had  almost  six  hundred  names  on  it.  To  a 
triumphant  teacher  who  had  volunteered  her  services  to  try 
an  experiment,  a  regular  salary  was  now  offered  and  an 
assistant  given  her.  And  so  Clara  Barton  again  proved  her 
talent  for  teaching. 

But  Bordentown  was  her  last  school.  When  she  had  been 
there  for  two  years  and  perfected  the  public-school  system, 
her  voice  gave  out  as  a  result  of  constant  use,  and  she  went 
to  Washington  for  a  rest.  But  it  did  not  take  her  long  to 
recuperate,  and  soon  she  was  eagerly  looking  out  for  some 
new  avenue  of  opportunity  to  take  the  place  of  teaching. 
Government  work  interested  her,  and  she  heard  rumors  of 
scandals  in  the  Patent  Office,  where  some  dishonest  clerks 
had  been  copying  and  selling  the  ideas  of  inventors  who  had 
filed  patents.  This  roused  her  anger,  for  she  felt  the  inven 
tors  were  defrauded  and  undefended  individuals  who  needed 
a  protector.  As  her  brother's  bookkeeper,  she  had  devel 
oped  a  clear,  copper-plate  handwriting,  which  would  aid  her 


TEN  AMERICAN  GIRLS  FROM  HISTORY 

in  trying  to  get  the  position  she  determined  to  try  for. 
Through  a  relative  in  Congress  she  secured  a  position  in  the 
Patent  Office,  and  when  it  was  proved  that  she  was  accept- 
table  there,  although  she  was  the  first  woman  ever  ap 
pointed  independently  to  a  clerkship  in  the  department,  she 
was  given  charge  of  a  confidential  desk,  where  she  had  the 
care  of  such  papers  as  had  not  been  carefully  enough 
guarded  before.  Her  salary  of  $1,400  a  year  was  as  much  as 
was  received  by  the  men  in  the  department,  which  created 
much  jealousy,  and  she  had  many  sneers  and  snubs  and 
much  disagreeable  treatment  from  the  other  clerks;  but  she 
went  serenely  on  her  way,  doing  her  duty  and  enjoying  the 
new  line  of  work  with  its  chances  for  observation  of  the 
government  and  its  working. 

War  clouds  were  now  beginning  to  gather  over  both 
North  and  South,  and  signs  of  an  approaching  conflict  were 
ominously  clear  in  Washington,  where  slavery  sentiments 
swayed  all  departments.  Clara  Barton  saw  with  keen  men 
tal  vision  all  the  signs  of  the  times,  and  there  was  much  to 
worry  her,  for  from  the  first  she  was  clearly  and  uncompro 
misingly  on  the  unpopular  side  of  the  disturbing  question, 
and  believed  with  Charles  Sumner  that  "Freedom  is  na 
tional;  slavery  is  sectional.'*  She  believed  in  the  Union 
and  she  believed  in  the  freedom  of  the  individual.  So  eager 
was  she  to  help  the  government  in  the  coming  national 
crisis  that  she  offered  her  services  as  a  clerk,  to  do  the  work 
of  two  dishonest  men;  for  this  work  she  was  to  receive  the 
salary  of  one  clerk,  and  pay  back  into  the  Treasury  that  of 
the  other,  in  order  to  save  all  the  money  possible  for  an 
emergency.  No  deed  gives  a  clearer  insight  into  the  char 
acter  of  Clara  Barton  than  that.  As  it  was  in  the  case  of 
the  school  in  Bordentown,  so  was  it  now.  If  public  service 
was  the  question,  she  had  no  thought  of  self  or  of  money — 
the  point  was  to  achieve  the  desired  end.  And  now  she  was 

156 


CLARA  BARTON 

nearer  the  goal  of  her  own  personal  service  to  the  world 
than  she  dreamed. 

Fort  Sumter  was  fired  on.  President  Lincoln  called  for 
seventy-five  thousand  troops,  and  all  those  who  were  at 
the  seat  of  government  knew  that  the  hour  for  sacrifice 
of  men  and  money  had  come.  Massachusetts  responded 
to  the  call  for  troops  with  four  regiments,  one  of  which, 
the  Sixth,  set  out  for  Washington  at  once.  As  they 
marched  through  the  streets  of  Baltimore  they  were  at 
tacked  by  a  furious  mob  who  succeeded  in  killing  four 
soldiers  and  wounding  many  more,  but  the  troopers 
fought  them  off  as  bravely  as  possible  and  marched  on 
to  the  station,  where  they  entrained  for  Washington, 
many  of  them  arriving  there  in  a  pitiable  condition. 
When  they  detrained  at  the  national  capital  they  were 
met  by  a  large  number  of  sympathetic  women,  among 
them  Clara  Barton,  who  recognized  some  of  her  old  friends 
and  pupils  among  those  who  were  limping,  or  with  injured 
arms,  or  carried  on  stretchers,  and  her  heart  went  out  to 
them  in  loyalty  and  pride,  for  they  were  giving  their  services 
to  their  country  in  an  hour  of  need. 

The  men  who  had  not  been  injured  were  temporarily 
quartered  at  the  Capitol,  while  the  wounded  were  taken  to 
the  Infirmary,  where  their  wounds  were  dressed  at  once, 
any  material  on  hand  being  used.  When  the  supply  of  hand 
kerchiefs  gave  out,  Clara  Barton,  as  well  as  other  impromptu 
nurses,  rushed  to  their  homes  and  tore  up  sheets  for  band 
ages,  and  Miss  Barton  also  filled  a  large  box  full  of  needles, 
pins,  buttons,  salves  and  other  necessities,  and  carried  it 
back  to  the  Infirmary,  where  she  had  her  first  experience 
in  caring  for  wounded  soldiers.  When  she  could  leave  the 
Infirmary,  she  went  to  the  Capitol  and  found  the  poor  fel 
lows  there  famished,  for  they  had  not  been  expected  and 
their  commissary  stores  had  not  yet  been  unloaded.  Down 

157 


TEN  AMERICAN  GIRLS  FROM  HISTORY 

to  the  market  hurried  the  energetic  volunteer  nurse,  and 
soon  came  back  carrying  a  big  basketful  of  supplies,  which 
made  a  feast  for  the  hungry  men.  Then,  as  she  afterward 
wrote  in  a  letter  to  a  friend,  "the  boys,  who  had  just  one 
copy  of  the  Worcester  Spy  of  the  22nd,  were  so  anxious  to 
know  its  contents  that  they  begged  me  to  read  it  to  them, 
which  I  did — mounting  to  the  desk  of  the  President  of  the 
Senate,  that  they  all  might  hear." 

In  her  letter  she  says,  "You  would  have  smiled  to  see  me 
and  my  audience  in  the  Senate  Chamber  of  the  U.  S.  A." 
and  adds:  "God  bless  the  noble  fellows  who  leave  their 
quiet  happy  homes  at  the  call  of  their  country.  So  far  as 
our  poor  efforts  can  reach,  they  shall  never  lack  a  kindly 
hand  or  a  sister's  sympathy  if  they  come." 

Eager  to  have  the  soldiers  given  all  the  comforts  and 
necessities  which  could  be  obtained,  Miss  Barton  put  an 
advertisement  in  the  Worcester  Spy,  asking  for  supplies 
and  money  for  the  wounded  and  needy  in  the  Sixth  Regi 
ment,  and  stating  that  she  herself  would  receive  and  give 
them  out.  The  response  was  overwhelming.  So  much  food 
and  clothing  was  sent  to  her  that  her  small  apartment  over 
flowed  with  supplies,  and  she  was  obliged  to  rent  rooms  in  a 
warehouse  to  store  them. 

And  now  Clara  Barton  was  a  new  creature.  She  felt  within 
herself  the  ability  to  meet  a  great  need,  and  the  energy 
which  for  so  long  had  been  pent  up  within  her  was  poured 
out  in  a  seemingly  unending  supply  of  tenderness  and  of  help 
for  suffering  humanity.  There  was  no  time  now  for  sensi 
tiveness,  or  for  shyness;  there  was  work  to  do  through  the 
all-too-short  days  and  nights  of  this  struggle  for  freedom 
and  unity  of  the  nation.  Gone  was  the  teacher,  gone  the 
woman  of  normal  thought  and  action,  and  in  her  place  we 
find  the  "Angel  of  the  Battlefields,"  who  for  the  remainder  of 
her  life  was  to  be  one  of  the  world's  foremost  figures  in  min- 

158 


CLARA  BARTON 

istrations  to  the  suffering,  where  suffering  would  otherwise 
have  had  no  alleviation. 

"On  the  2  ist  of  July  the  Union  forces  were  routed  at  Bull 
Run  with  terrific  loss  of  life  and  many  wounded.  Two 
months  later  the  battle  of  Ball's  Bluff  occurred,  in  which 
there  were  three  Massachusetts  regiments  engaged,  with 
many  of  Clara  Barton's  lifelong  friends  among  them.  By 
this  time  the  hospitals  and  commissaries  in  Washington  had 
been  well  organized,  and  there  was  no  desperate  need  for 
the  supplies  which  were  still  being  shipped  to  Miss  Barton 
in  great  quantities,  nor  was  there  need  of  her  nursing.  How 
ever,  she  went  to  the  docks  to  meet  the  wounded  and  dying 
soldiers,  who  were  brought  up  the  Potomac  on  transports." 
Often  they  were  in  such  a  condition  from  neglect  that  they 
were  baked  as  hard  as  the  backs  of  turtles  with  blood  and 
clay,  and  it  took  all  a  woman's  swift  and  tender  care,  to 
gether  with  the  use  of  warm  water,  restoratives,  dressings, 
and  delicacies  to  make  them  at  all  comfortable.  Then 
their  volunteer  nurse  would  go  with  them  to  the  hospitals, 
and  back  again  in  the  ambulance  she  would  drive,  to  repeat 
her  works  of  mercy. 

But  she  was  not  satisfied  with  this  work.  If  wounds  could 
be  attended  to  as  soon  as  the  men  fell  in  battle,  hundreds 
of  deaths  could  be  prevented,  and  she  made  up  her  mind 
that  in  some  way  she  was  going  to  override  public  sentiment, 
which  in  those  early  days  of  the  war  did  not  allow  women 
nurses  to  go  to  the  front,  for  she  was  determined  to  go  to 
the  very  firing-line  itself  as  a  nurse.  And,  as  she  had  got  her 
way  at  other  times  in  her  life,  so  now  she  achieved  her  end,  but 
after  months  of  rebuffs  and  of  tedious  waiting,  during  which 
the  bloody  battle  of  Fair  Oaks  had  been  fought  with  terrible 
losses  on  each  side.  The  seven  days'  retreat  of  the  Union 
forces  under  McClellan  followed,  with  eight  thousand 
wounded  and  over  seventeen  hundred  killed.  On  top  of  this 

159 


TEN  AMERICAN  GIRLS  FROM  HISTORY 

came  the  battle  of  Cedar  Mountain,  with  many  Northerners 
killed,  wounded  and  missing. 

One  day,  when  Assistant  Quartermaster-General  Rucker, 
who  was  one  of  the  great-hearts  of  the  army,  was  at  his  desk, 
he  was  confronted  by  a  bright-eyed  little  woman,  to  whose 
appeal  he  gave  sympathetic  attention. 

"I  have  no  fear  of  the  battle-field,"  she  told  him.  "I 
have  large  stores,  but  no  way  to  reach  the  troops." 

Then  she  described  the  condition  of  the  soldiers  when  they 
reached  Washington,  often  too  late  for  any  care  to  save  them 
or  heal  their  wounds.  She  must  go  to  the  battle-front  where 
she  could  care  for  them  quickly.  So  overjoyed  was  she 
to  be  given  the  needed  passports  as  well  as  kindly  interets 
and  good  wishes  that  she  burst  into  tears  as  she  gripped  the 
old  soldier's  hand,  then  she  hurried  out  to  make  immediate 
plans  for  having  her  supplies  loaded  on  a  railroad  car.  As 
she  tersely  put  it,  "When  our  armies  fought  on  Cedar  Moun 
tain,  I  broke  the  shackles  and  went  to  the  field/'  When 
she  began  her  work  on  the  day  after  the  battle  she  found  an 
immense  amount  of  work  to  do.  Later  she  described  her 
experience  in  this  modest  way: 

"Five  days  and  nights  with  three  hours'  sleep — a  narrow 
escape  from  capture — and  some  days  of  getting  the  wounded 
into  hospitals  at  Washington  brought  Saturday,  August 
3<Dth.  And  if  you  chance  to  feel  that  the  positions  I  occupied 
were  rough  and  unseemly  for  a  woman,  I  can  only  reply 
that  they  were  rough  and  unseemly  for  men.  But  under 
all,  lay  the  life  of  a  nation.  I  had  inherited  the  rich  blessing 
of  health  and  strength  of  constitution  such  as  are  seldom 
given  to  women,  and  I  felt  that  some  return  was  due  from 
me  and  that  I  ought  to  be  there." 

The  famous  army  nurse  had  served  her  novitiate  now, 
and  through  the  weary  years  of  the  war  which  dragged  on 
with  alternate  gains  and  losses  for  the  Union  forces,  Clara 

160 


CLARA  BARTON 

Barton's  name  began  to  be  spoken  of  with  awe  and  deep 
affection  wherever  a  wounded  man  had  come  under  her 
gentle  care.  Being  under  no  society  or  leader,  she  was  free 
to  come  or  go  at  will.  But  from  the  first  day  of  her  work 
at  the  front  she  was  encouraged  in  it  by  individual  officers 
who  saw  the  great  value  of  what  she  accomplished. 

At  Antietam,  when  the  fighting  began,  her  wagons  were 
driven  through  a  field  of  tall  corn  to  an  old  homestead,  while 
the  shot  whizzed  thick  around  them.  In  the  barnyard  and 
among  the  corn  lay  torn  and  bleeding  men — the  worst  cases, 
just  brought  from  the  places  where  they  had  fallen.  All 
was  in  confusion,  for  the  army  medical  supplies  had  not  yet 
arrived,  and  the  surgeons  were  trying  to  make  bandages  of 
corn  husks.  The  new  army  nurse  immediately  had  her 
supplies  unloaded  and  hurried  out  to  revive  the  wounded 
with  bread  soaked  in  wine.  When  her  bread  gave  out  there 
were  still  many  to  be  fed.  All  the  supplies  she  had  were 
three  cases  of  unopened  wine. 

"Open  the  wine,  and  give  that,"  she  commanded,  "and 
God  help  us." 

Her  order  was  obeyed,  and  as  she  watched  the  cases  being 
unpacked  her  eyes  fell  on  the  packing  around  the  bottles  of 
wine.  It  was  nicely  sifted  corn-meal.  If  it  had  been  gold 
dust  it  could  not  have  been  more  valuable.  The  wine  was 
unpacked  as  quickly  as  possible;  kettles  were  found  in  the 
farm-house,  and  in  a  twinkling  that  corn-meal  was  mixed 
with  water,  and  good  gruel  for  the  men  was  in  the  making. 
Then  it  occurred  to  Miss  Barton  to  see  what  was  in  the 
cellar  of  the  old  house,  and  there  three  barrels  of  flour  and 
a  bag  of  salt  were  found,  stored  by  the  rebels  and  left  be 
hind  when  they  marched  away.  "What  wealth!"  exclaimed 
the  woman,  who  was  frantically  eager  to  feed  her  flock. 
All  that  night  Clara  Barton  and  her  workers  carried 
buckets  of  hot  gruel  up  and  down  the  long  lines  to  the 

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TEN  AMERICAN  GIRLS  FROM  HISTORY 

wounded  and  dying  men.  Then  up  to  the  farm-house  went 
the  army  nurse,  where,  in  the  dim  light  of  a  lone  flickering 
candle,  she  could  dimly  see  the  surgeon  in  charge,  sitting 
in  apparent  despair  by  the  table,  his  head  resting  in  his 
hands.  She  tiptoed  up  to  him  and  said,  quietly,  "You  are 
tired,  doctor." 

Looking  up,  he  exclaimed:  "Tired?  Yes,  I  am  tired! 
Tired  of  such  heartlessness  and  carelessness!  And/'  he 
added,  "think  of  the  condition  of  things.  Here  are  at  least 
one  thousand  wounded  men;  terribly  wounded,  five  hun 
dred  of  whom  cannot  live  till  daylight  without  attention. 
That  two-inch  of  candle  is  all  I  have,  or  can  get.  What  can 
I  do?  How  can  I  bear  it?" 

A  smile  played  over  Clara  Barton's  clear-cut  face.  Gently 
but  firmly  she  took  him  by  the  elbow  and  led  him  to  the 
door,  pointing  toward  the  barn,  where  dozens  of  lanterns 
gleamed  like  stars. 

"What  is  it?"  he  exclaimed. 

"The  barn  is  lighted,"  she  said,  "and  the  house  will  be 
directly." 

"Who  did  it?" 

"I,  doctor." 

"Where  did  you  get  them?" 

"Brought  them  with  me." 

"How  many  have  you?" 

"All  you  want,  four  boxes." 

For  a  moment  he  stared  at  her  as  if  to  be  sure  he  was  not 
in  a  dream.  Then  he  turned  away  without  a  word,  and 
never  spoke  of  the  matter  again,  but  his  deference  to  Clara 
Barton  from  that  time  was  the  greatest  a  man  can  pay  a 
woman. 

Not  until  all  her  stores  were  exhausted  and  she  was  sick 
with  a  fever  would  Clara  Barton  leave  the  battle-field  of 
Antietam;  then,  dragging  herself  to  the  train,  she  went  back 

162 


CLARA  BARTON 

to  Washington  to  be  taken  care  of  until  she  was  better. 
When  at  last  she  was  strong  enough  to  work  again  she  went 
to  see  her  friend  Quartermaster-General  Rucker,  and  told 
him  that  if  she  had  had  five  wagons  she  would  have  had 
enough  supplies  for  all  the  wounded  at  Antietam.  With 
an  expression  of  intense  admiration  on  his  soldierly  face 
as  he  watched  the  brave  volunteer  nurse,  he  declared: 

"You  shall  have  enough  next  time!" 

The  promise  was  made  good.  Having  recognized  the  value 
of  her  efficient  services,  the  Government  assisted  in  every 
way,  making  it  possible  for  her  to  carry  on  her  work  on 
the  battle-fields  and  in  military  camps  and  hospitals  in  the 
best  way. 

Clara  Barton! — Only  the  men  who  lay  wounded  or  dying 
on  the  battle-field  knew  the  thrill  and  the  comfort  that  the 
name  carried.  Again  and  again  her  life  was  in  danger — 
once  at  Antietam,  when  stooping  to  give  a  drink  of  water 
to  an  injured  boy,  a  bullet  whizzed  between  them.  It  ended 
the  life  of  the  poor  lad,  but  only  tore  a  hole  in  Clara  Barton's 
sleeve.  And  so,  again  and  again,  it  seemed  as  if  a  special 
Providence  protected  her  from  death  or  injury.  At  Fred- 
ericksburg,  when  the  dead,  starving  and  wounded  lay  frozen 
on  the  ground,  and  there  was  no  effective  organization  for 
proper  relief,  with  swift,  silent  efficiency  Clara  Barton  moved 
among  them,  having  the  snow  cleared  away  and  under  the 
banks  finding  famished,  frozen  figures  which  were  once  men. 
She  rushed  to  have  an  old  chimney  torn  down  and  built 
fire-blocks,  over  which  she  soon  had  kettles  full  of  coffee  and 
gruel  steaming. 

As  she  was  bending  over  a  wounded  rebel,  he  whispered 
to  her:  "Lady,  you  have  been  kind  to  me  .  .  .  every  street 
of  the  city  is  covered  by  our  cannon.  When  your  entire 
army  has  reached  the  other  side  of  the  Rappahannock, 
they  will  find  Fredericksburg  only  a  slaughter-pen.  Not  a 
12  163 


TEN  AMERICAN  GIRLS   FROM  HISTORY 

regiment  will  escape.     Do  not  go  over,  for  you  will  go  to 
certain  death." 

She  thanked  him  for  the  kindly  warning  and  later  told  of 
the  call  that  came  to  her  to  go  across  the  river,  and  what 
happened.  She  says: 

"At  ten  o'clock  of  the  battle  day  when  the  rebel  fire  was 
hottest,  the  shells  rolling  down  every  street,  and  the  bridge 
under  the  heavy  cannonade,  a  courier  dashed  over,  and, 
rushing  up  the  steps  of  the  house  where  I  was,  placed  in  my 
hand  a  crumpled,  bloody  piece  of  paper,  a  request  from  the 
lion-hearted  old  surgeon  on  the  opposite  shore,  establishing 
his  hospitals  in  the  very  jaws  of  death: 

"Come  to  me,'  he  wrote.    'Your  place  is  here.' 

"The  faces  of  the  rough  men  working  at  my  side,  which 
eight  weeks  before  had  flushed  with  indignation  at  the 
thought  of  being  controlled  by  a  woman,  grew  ashy  white 
as  they  guessed  the  nature  of  the  summons,  .  .  .  and  they 
begged  me  to  send  them,  but  save  myself.  I  could  only 
allow  them  to  go  with  me  if  they  chose,  and  in  twenty  min 
utes  we  were  rocking  across  the  swaying  bridge,  the  water 
hissing  with  shot  on  either  side. 

"Over  into  that  city  of  death,  its  roofs  riddled  by  shell, 
its  every  church  a  crowded  hospital,  every  street  a  battle- 
line,  every  hill  a  rampart,  every  rock  a  fortress,  and  every 
stone  wall  a  blazing  line  of  forts. 

"Oh,  what  a  day's  work  was  that!  How  those  long  lines 
of  blue,  rank  on  rank,  charged  over  the  open  acres,  up  to 
the  very  mouths  of  those  blazing  guns,  and  how  like  grain 
before  the  sickle  they  fell  and  melted  away. 

"An  officer  stepped  to  my  side  to  assist  me  over  the 
debris  at  the  end  of  the  bridge.  While  our  hands  were  raised 
in  the  act  of  stepping  down,  a  piece  of  an  exploding  shell 
hissed  through  between  us,  just  below  our  arms,  carrying 
away  a  portion  of  both  the  skirts  of  his  coat  and  my  dress, 

164 


CLARA  BARTON 

rolling  along  the  ground  a  few  rods  from  us  like  a  harmless 
pebble  in  the  water.  The  next  instant  a  solid  shot  thundered 
over  our  heads,  a  noble  steed  bounded  in  the  air  and  with 
his  gallant  rider  rolled  in  the  dirt  not  thirty  feet  in  the  rear. 
Leaving  the  kind-hearted  officer,  I  passed  on  alone  to  the 
hospital.  In  less  than  a  half-hour  he  was  brought  to  me — 
dead/' 

She  was  passing  along  a  street  in  the  heart  of  the  city 
when  she  had  to  step  aside  to  let  a  regiment  of  infantry 
march  by.  At  that  moment  General  Patrick  saw  her,  and, 
thinking  she  was  a  frightened  resident  of  the  city  who  had 
been  left  behind  in  the  general  exodus,  leaned  from  his 
saddle  and  said,  reassuringly: 

"You  are  alone  and  in  great  danger,  madam.  Do  you 
want  protection?" 

With  a  rare  smile,  Miss  Barton  said,  as  she  looked  at  the 
ranks  of  soldiers,  "Thank  you,  but  I  think  I  am  the  best- 
protected  woman  in  the  United  States." 

The  near-by  soldiers  caught  her  words  and  cried  out: 

"That's  so!  That's  so!"  and  the  cheer  they  gave  was 
echoed  by  line  after  line,  until  the  sound  of  the  shouting 
was  like  the  cheers  after  a  great  victory.  Bending  low  with 
a  courtly  smile,  the  general  said: 

"I  believe  you  are  right,  madam!"  and  galloped  away. 

"At  the  battles  of  Cedar  Mountain,  Second  Bull  Run, 
Antietam,  during  the  eight  months'  siege  of  Charleston,  in 
the  hospital  at  Fort  Wagner,  with  the  army  in  front  of 
Petersburg  and  in  the  Wilderness  and  the  hospitals  about 
Richmond,  there  was  no  limit  to  the  work  Clara  Barton 
accomplished  for  the  sick  and  dying,  but  among  all  her  ex 
periences  during  those  years  of  the  war,  the  Battle  of  Fred- 
ericksburg  was  most  unspeakably  awful  to  her.  And  yet 
afterward  she  saw  clearly  that  it  was  this  defeat  that  gave 
birth  to  the  Emancipation  Proclamation. 

165 


TEN  AMERICAN  GIRLS   FROM  HISTORY 

"And  the  white  May  blossoms  of  '63  fell  over  the  glad 
faces — the  swarthy  brows,  the  toil-worn  hands  of  four 
million  liberated  slaves.  'America/  writes  Miss  Barton, 
'had  freed  a  race."' 

As  the  war  drew  to  an  end,  President  Lincoln  received 
hundreds  of  letters  from  anxious  parents  asking  for  news  of 
their  boys.  There  were  eighty  thousand  missing  men  whose 
families  had  no  knowledge  whether  they  were  alive  or  dead. 
In  despair,  and  believing  that  Clara  Barton  had  more  infor 
mation  of  the  soldiers  than  any  one  else  to  whom  he  could 
turn,  the  President  requested  her  to  take  up  the  task,  and  the 
army  nurse's  tender  heart  was  touched  by  the  thought  of 
helping  so  many  mothers  who  had  no  news  of  their  boys,  and 
she  went  to  work,  aided  by  the  hospital  and  burial  lists  she 
had  compiled  when  on  the  field  of  action. 

For  four  years  she  did  this  work,  and  it  was  a  touching 
scene  when  she  was  called  before  the  Committee  on  Investi 
gation  to  tell  of  its  results.  With  quiet  simplicity  she  stood 
before  the  row  of  men  and  reported,  "Over  thirty  thousand 
men,  living  and  dead,  already  traced.  No  available  funds 
for  the  necessary  investigation;  in  consequence,  over  eight 
thousand  dollars  of  my  own  income  spent  in  the  search." 

As  the  men  confronting  her  heard  the  words  of  the  bright- 
eyed  woman  who  was  looked  on  as  a  sister  by  the  soldiers 
from  Maine  to  Virginia,  whose  name  was  a  household  one 
throughout  the  land,  not  one  of  them  was  ashamed  to  wipe 
the  tears  from  his  eyes!  Later  the  government  paid  her 
back  in  part  the  money  she  had  spent  in  her  work;  but 
she  gave  her  time  without  charge  as  well  as  many  a  dollar 
which  was  never  returned,  counting  it  enough  reward  to 
read  the  joyful  letters  from  happy,  reunited  families. 

While  doing  this  work  she  gave  over  three  hundred  lect 
ures  through  the  East  and  West,  and  as  a  speaker  she  held 
her  audiences  as  if  by  magic,  for  she  spoke  glowingly  about 

166 


CLARA  BARTON 

the  work  nearest  to  her  heart,  giving  the  proceeds  of  her 
lectures  to  the  continuance  of  that  work.  One  evening  in 
the  winter  of  1868,  when  speaking  in  one  of  the  finest  opera- 
houses  in  the  East,  bef<.  re  one  of  the  most  brilliant  assem 
blages  she  had  ever  faced,  her  voice  suddenly  gave  out,  as 
it  had  in  the  days  when  she  was  teaching.  The  heroic  army 
nurse  and  worker  for  the  soldiers  was  worn  out  in  body  and 
nerves.  As  soon  as  she  was  able  to  travel  the  doctor  com 
manded  that  she  take  three  years  of  absolute  rest.  Obey 
ing  the  order,  she  sailed  for  Europe,  and  in  peaceful  Switzer 
land  with  its  natural  beauty  hoped  to  regain  normal  strength; 
for  her  own  country  had  emerged  from  the  black  shadow  of 
war,  and  she  felt  that  her  life  work  had  been  accomplished, 
that  rest  could  henceforth  be  her  portion.  \^ 

But  Clara  Barton  was  still  on  the  threshold  of  her  complete 
achievement.  When  she  had  been  in  Switzerland  only  a 
month,  and  her  broken-down  nerves  were  just  beginning  to 
respond  to  the  change  of  air  and  scene,  she  received  a  call 
which  changed  the  color  of  her  future.  Her  caller  repre 
sented  the  International  Committee  of  the  Red  Cross 
Society.  Miss  Barton  did  not  know  what  the  Red  Cross  was, 
and  said  so.  He  then  explained  the  nature  of  the  society, 
which  was  founded  for  the  relief  of  sick  and  wounded  sol 
diers,  and  he  told  his  eager  listener  what  she  did  not  know, 
that  back  of  the  Society  was  the  Geneva  Treaty,  which  had 
been  providing  for  such  relief  work,  signed  by  all  the  civilized 
nations  except  her  own.  From  that  moment  a  new  ambi 
tion  was  born  in  Clara  Barton's  heart — to  find  out  why 
America  had  not  signed  the  treaty,  and  to  know  more  about 
the  Red  Cross  Society. 

"Nearly  a  year  later,  while  still  resting  in  quiet  Switzer 
land,  there  broke  one  day  upon  the  clear  air  of  her  Swiss 
home  the  distant  sounds  of  a  royal  party  hastening  back 
from  a  tour  of  the  Alps.  To  Miss  Barton's  amazement  it 

167 


TEN  AMERICAN  GIRLS  FROM  HISTORY 

came  in  the  direction  of  her  villa.  Finally  flashed  the  scarlet 
and  gold  of  the  liveries  of  the  Grand  Duke  of  Baden.  After 
the  outriders  came  the  splendid  coach  of  the  Grand  Duchess, 
daughter  of  King  Wilhelm  of  Prussia,  so  soon  to  be  Em 
peror  William  of  Germany.  In  it  rode  the  Grand  Duchess. 
After  presenting  her  card  through  the  footman,  she  her 
self  alighted  and  clasped  Miss  Barton's  hand,  hailing  her 
in  the  name  of  humanity,  and  said  she  already  knew  her 
through  what  she  had  done  in  the  Civil  War.  Then,  still 
clasping  her  hand  in  a  tight  grip  of  comradeship,  she  begged 
Miss  Barton  to  leave  Switzerland  and  aid  in  Red  Cross  work 
on  the  battle-fields  of  the  Franco-Prussian  War,  which  was 
in  its  beginnings.  It  was  a  real  temptation  to  once  again 
work  for  suffering  humanity,  yet  she  put  it  aside  as  unwise. 
But  a  year  later,  when  the  officers  of  the  International  Red 
Cross  Society  came  again  to  beg  that  Miss  Barton  take  the 
lead  in  a  great  systematic  plan  of  relief  work  such  as  that  for 
which  she  had  become  famous  during  the  Civil  War,  she 
accepted.  In  the  face  of  such  consequences  as  her  health 
might  suffer  from  her  decision,  she  rose,  and,  with  head 
held  high  and  flashing  eyes,  said: 

"Command  me!" 

Clara  Barton  was  no  longer  to  be  the  Angel  of  the  Amer 
ican  battle-fields  only — from  that  moment  she  belonged  to 
the  world,  and  never  again  could  she  be  claimed  by  any  one 
country.  But  it  is  as  the  guardian  angel  of  our  soldiers  in 
the  United  States  that  her  story  concerns  us,  although  there 
is  reason  for  great  pride  in  the  part  she  played  in  nursing 
the  wounded  at  Strassburg,  and  later  when  her  presence 
carried  comfort  and  healing  to  the  victims  of  the  fight  with 
the  Commune  in  Paris. 

As  tangible  results  of  her  work  abroad,  she  was  given 
an  amethyst  cut  in  the  shape  of  a  pansy,  by  the  Grand 
Duchess  of  Baden,  also  the  Serbian  decoration  of  the  Red 

168 


CLARA  BARTON 

Cross  as  the  gift  of  Queen  Natalie,  and  the  Gold  Cross  of 
Remembrance,  which  was  presented  her  by  the  Grand  Duke 
and  Duchess  of  Baden  together.  Queen  Victoria,  with  her 
own  hand,  pinned  an  English  decoration  on  her  dress.  The 
Iron  Cross  of  Germany,  as  well  as  the  Order  of  Melusine 
given  her  by  the  Prince  of  Jerusalem,  were  among  an  array 
of  medals  and  pendants — enough  to  have  made  her  a  much- 
bejeweled  person,  had  it  been  her  way  to  make  a  show  of  her 
own  rewards. 

Truly  Clara  Barton  belonged  to  the  world,  and  a  suffering 
person  had  no  race  or  creed  to  her — she  loved  and  cared  for 
all. 

When  at  last  she  returned  to  America,  it  was  with  the  de 
termination  to  have  America  sign  the  Geneva  Treaty  and 
to  bring  her  own  country  into  line  with  the  Red  Cross 
movement,  which  she  had  carefully  watched  in  foreign  coun 
tries,  and  which  she  saw  was  the  solution  to  efficient  aid  of 
wounded  men,  either  in  the  battle-field  or  wherever  there 
had  been  any  kind  of  disaster  and  there  was  need  of  quick 
aid  for  suffering.  It  was  no  easy  task  to  convince  American 
officials,  but  at  last  she  achieved  her  end.  On  the  1st  of 
March,  1882,  the  Geneva  Treaty  was  signed  by  President 
Arthur,  ratified  by  the  Senate,  and  immediately  the  Amer 
ican  National  Red  Cross  was  formed  with  Clara  Barton  as 
its  first  president. 

The  European  "rest"  trip  had  resulted  in  one  of  the 
greatest  achievements  for  the  benefit  of  mankind  in  which 
America  ever  participated,  and  its  birth  in  the  United  States 
was  due  solely  to  the  efforts  of  the  determined,  consecrated 
nurse  who,  when  eleven  years  old,  gave  her  all  to  a  sick 
brother,  and  later  consecrated  her  life  to  the  service  of  a 
sick  brotherhood  of  brave  men. 

On  the  day  after  her  death,  on  April  12,  1912,  one 
editor  of  an  American  newspaper  paid  a  tribute  to  her 

169 


TEN  AMERICAN  GIRLS  FROM  HISTORY 

that  ranks  with  those  paid  the  world's  greatest  heroes. 
He  said: 

"On  the  battle-fields  of  the  Rebellion  her  hands  bound  up 
the  wounds  of  the  injured  brave. 

"The  candles  of  her  charity  lighted  the  gloom  of  death 
for  the  heroes  of  Antietam  and  Fredericksburg. 

"Across  the  ocean  waters  of  her  sweet  labors  followed  the 
flag  of  the  saintly  Red  Cross  through  the  Franco-Prussian  war. 

"When  stricken  Armenia  cried  out  for  help  in  1896,  it  was 
Clara  Barton  who  led  the  relief  corps  of  salvation  and 
sustenance. 

"A  woman  leading  in  answering  the  responsibility  of  civili 
zation  to  the  world ! 

"When  McKinley's  khaki  boys  struck  the  iron  from 
Cuba's  bondage  it  was  Clara  Barton,  in  her  seventy-seventh 
year,  who  followed  to  the  fever-ridden  tropics  to  lead  in  the 
relief-work  on  Spanish  battle-grounds. 

"She  is  known  wherever  man  appreciates  humanity." 

Hers  was  the  honor  of  being  the  first  president  of  the 
American  Red  Cross,  but  she  was  more  than  that — she 
was  the  Red  Cross  at  that  time.  It  was,  as  she  said,  "her 
child,"  and  she  furnished  headquarters  for  it  in  her  Wash 
ington  home,  dispensing  the  charities  of  a  nation,  amounting 
to  hundreds  of  thousands  of  dollars,  and  was  never  requested 
to  publish  her  accounts,  an  example  of  personal  leadership 
which  is  unparalleled. 

In  1897  we  find  the  Red  Cross  president  settled  in  her  home 
at  Glen  Echo,  a  few  miles  out  of  Washington,  on  a  high 
slope  overlooking  the  Potomac,  and,  although  it  was  a  Red 
Cross  center,  it  was  a  friendly  lodging  as  well,  where  its 
owner  could  receive  her  personal  friends.  Flags  and  Red 
Cross  testimonials  from  rulers  of  all  nations  fluttered  from 
the  walls,  among  them  a  beautiful  one  from  the  Sultan  of 

170 


CLARA  BARTON 

Turkey.  Two  small  crosses  of  red  glass  gleamed  in  the  front 
windows  over  the  balcony,  but  above  the  house  the  Red 
Cross  banner  floated  high,  as  if  to  tell  the  world  that  "the 
banner  over  us  is  love."  And  to  Glen  Echo,  the  center  of 
her  beloved  activity,  Clara  Barton  always  loved  to  return 
at  the  end  of  her  campaigns.  To  the  many  thousands  who 
came  to  visit  her  home  as  one  of  the  great  humane  centers 
of  the  world,  she  became  known  as  the  "Beautiful  Lady  of 
the  Potomac,"  and  never  did  a  title  more  fittingly  describe 
a  nature. 

To  the  last  she  was  a  soldier — systematic,  industrious, 
severely  simple  in  her  tastes.  It  was  a  rule  of  the  household 
that  every  day's  duties  should  be  disposed  of  before  turning 
in  for  the  night,  and  at  five  o'clock  the  next  morning  she 
would  be  rolling  a  carpet-sweeper  over  the  floor.  She  always 
observed  military  order  and  took  a  soldier's  pride  in  keeping 
her  quarters  straight. 

Hanging  on  the  wall  between  her  bedroom  and  private 
sitting-room  was  a  small  mirror  into  which  her  mother 
looked  when  she  came  home  as  a  bride. 

Her  bed  was  small  and  hard.  Near  it  were  the  books 
that  meant  so  much  to  her — the  Bible,  Pilgrim's  Progress, 
the  stories  of  Sarah  Orne  Jewett,  the  poems  of  Lucy  Lar- 
com,  and  many  other  well-worn,  much-read  classics. 

That  she  was  still  feminine,  as  in  the  days  of  girlhood 
when  she  fashioned  her  first  straw  bonnet,  so  now  she  was 
fond  of  wearing  handsome  gowns,  often  with  trains.  Laven 
der,  royal  purple,  and  wine  color  were  the  shades  she  liked 
best  to  wear,  and  in  which  her  friends  most  often  remember 
her.  Despite  her  few  extravagant  tastes,  Clara  Barton  was 
the  most  democratic  woman  America  ever  produced,  as 
well  as  the  most  humane.  She  loved  people,  sick  and  well, 
and  in  any  State  and  city  of  the  Union  she  could  claim  per 
sonal  friends  in  every  walk  of  life. 

171 


TEN  AMERICAN  GIRLS  FROM  HISTORY 

When,  after  ninety-nine  years  of  life  and  fifty  of  continuous 
service  to  suffering  human  nature,  death  laid  its  hand  upon 
her  on  that  spring  day,  the  world  to  its  remotest  corner 
stopped  its  busy  barter  and  trade  for  a  brief  moment  to 
pay  reverent  tribute  to  a  woman,  who  was  by  nature  of 
the  most  retiring,  bashful  disposition,  and  yet  carried  on 
her  life-work  in  the  face  of  the  enemy,  to  the  sound  of  can 
non,  and  close  to  the  firing-line.  She  was  on  the  firing-line 
all  her  life.  That  is  her  life  story. 

Her  "boys"  of  all  ages  adored  her,  and  no  more  touching 
incident  is  told  of  her  than  that  of  a  day  in  Boston,  when,  after 
a  meeting,  she  lingered  at  its  close  to  chat  with  General 
Sh after.  Suddenly  the  great  audience,  composed  entirely  of 
old  soldiers,  rose  to  their  feet  as  she  came  down  the  aisle, 
and  a  voice  cried: 

"Three  cheers  for  Clara  Barton !" 

They  were  given  by  voices  hoarse  with  feeling.  Then 
some  one  shouted: 

"Tiger!" 

Before  it  could  be  given  another  voice  cried: 

"No!    Sweetheart!" 

Then  those  grizzled  elderly  men  whose  lives  she  had  helped 
to  save  broke  into  uproar  and  tears  together,  while  the 
little  bent  woman  smiled  back  at  them  with  a  love  as  true 
as  any  sweetheart's. 

To-day  we  stand  at  the  parting  of  the  ways.  Our  nation 
is  in  the  making  as  a  world  power,  and  in  its  rebirth  there 
must  needs  be  bloodshed  and  scalding  tears.  As  we  Amer 
ican  girls  and  women  go  out  bravely  to  face  the  untried 
future  and  to  nurse  under  the  banner  of  the  Red  Cross,  we 
shall  do  our  best  work  when  we  bear  to  the  battle-field  the 
same  spirit  of  high  purpose  and  consecration  that  inspired 
Clara  Barton  and  made  her  the  "Angel  of  the  Battle-fields." 

172 


CLARA  BARTON 

Let  us,  as  loyal  Americans,  take  to  heart  part  of  a  speech 
she  once  made  on  Memorial  Day,  when  she  stood  with  the 
"Boys  in  Blue"  in  the  "God's-acre"  of  the  soldier,  and 
declared: 

"We  cannot  always  hold  our  great  ship  of  state  out  of  the 
storms  and  breakers.  She  must  meet  and  buffet  with  them. 
Her  timbers  must  creak  in  the  gale.  The  waves  must  wash 
over  her  decks,  she  must  lie  in  the  trough  of  the  sea  as  she 
does  to-day.  But  the  Stars  and  Stripes  are  above  her.  She 
is  freighted  with  the  hopes  of  the  world.  God  holds  the 
helm,  and  she's  coming  to  port.  The  weak  must  fear,  the 
timid  tremble,  but  the  brave  and  stout  of  heart  will  work 
and  hope  and  trust." 


VIRGINIA  REED:    MIDNIGHT  HEROINE  OF  THE 
PLAINS  IN  PIONEER  DAYS  OF  AMERICA 

ON  a  lovely  April  morning  in  1846  there  was  an  unusual 
stir  in  the  streets  of  Springfield,  Illinois,  for  such  an 
early  hour.     From  almost  every  house  some  one  was  hurry 
ing,  and  as  neighbor  nodded  to  neighbor  the  news  passed  on: 

"The  wagons  are  ready — they  are  going!" 

As  the  sun  mounted  slowly  in  the  cloudless  sky,  from  all 
parts  of  town  there  still  flocked  friends  and  relatives  of  the 
small  band  of  emigrants  who  were  about  to  start  on  their 
long  trip  across  the  plains,  going  to  golden  California. 

California — magic  word!  Not  one  of  those  who  were 
hurrying  to  wish  the  travelers  God-speed,  nor  any  of  the 
band  who  were  leaving  their  homes,  but  felt  the  thrilling 
promise  and  the  presage  of  that  new  country  toward  which 
the  emigrants  were  about  to  turn  their  faces. 

The  crowd  of  friends  gathered  at  the  Reeds'  home,  where 
their  great  prairie-wagons  and  those  of  the  Donners  were 
drawn  up  in  a  long  line  before  the  door;  the  provision 
wagons,  filled  to  overflowing  with  necessities  and  luxuries, 
the  family  wagons  waiting  for  their  human  freight.  Mr. 
James  F.  Reed,  who  had  planned  the  trip,  was  one  of  Spring 
field's  most  highly  respected  citizens,  and  the  Donner 
brothers,  who  lived  just  outside  of  the  town,  had  enthusi 
astically  joined  him  in  perfecting  the  details  of  the  journey, 
and  had  come  in  to  town  the  night  before,  with  their  families, 
to  be  ready  for  an  early  start.  And  now  they  were  really 
going! 

174 


VIRGINIA  REED 

All  through  the  previous  winter,  in  the  evening,  when  the 
Reeds  were  gathered  before  their  big  log  fire,  they  had  talked 
of  the  wonderful  adventure,  while  Mrs.  Reed's  skilful  fingers 
fashioned  such  garments  as  would  be  needed  for  the  journey. 
And  while  she  sewed,  Grandma  Keyes  told  the  children  mar 
velous  tales  of  Indian  massacres  on  those  very  plains  across 
which  they  were  going  to  travel  when  warmer  days  came. 
Grandma  told  her  breathless  audience  of  giant  red  men, 
whose  tomahawks  were  always  ready  to  descend  on  the 
heads  of  unlucky  travelers  who  crossed  their  path — told  so 
many  blood-curdling  stories  of  meetings  between  white 
men  and  Indian  warriors  that  the  little  boys,  James  and 
Thomas,  and  little  black -eyed  Patty  and  older  Virginia, 
were  spellbound  as  they  listened. 

To  Virginia,  an  imaginative  girl,  twelve  years  old,  the  very 
flames,  tongueing  their  way  up  the  chimney  in  fantastic 
shapes,  became  bold  warriors  in  mortal  combat  with  emi 
grants  on  their  way  to  the  golden  West,  and  even  after  she 
had  gone  to  bed  it  seemed  to  her  that  "everything  in  the 
room,  from  the  high  old-fashioned  bedposts  down  to  the 
shovel  and  tongs,  was  transformed  into  the  dusky  tribe  in 
paint  and  feathers,  all  ready  for  a  war-dance"  as  they 
loomed  large  out  of  shadowy  corners.  She  would  hide  her 
head  under  the  clothes,  scarcely  daring  to  wink  or  breathe, 
then  come  boldly  to  the  surface,  face  her  shadowy  foes,  and 
fall  asleep  without  having  come  to  harm  at  the  hands  of  the 
invisibles. 

Going  to  California — oh  the  ecstatic  terror  of  it!  And 
now  the  day  and  the  hour  of  departure  had  come! 

The  Reeds'  wagons  had  all  been  made  to  order,  and  care 
fully  planned  by  Mr.  Reed  himself  with  a  view  to  comfort  in 
every  detail,  so  they  were  the  best  of  their  kind  that  ever 
crossed  the  plains,  and  especially  was  their  family  wagon  a 
real  pioneer  car  de  luxe,  made  to  give  every  possible  con- 

175 


TEN  AMERICAN  GIRLS  FROM  HISTORY 

venience  to  Mrs.  Reed  and  Grandma  Keyes.  When  the 
trip  had  been  first  discussed  by  the  Reeds,  the  old  lady,  then 
seventy-five  years  old  and  for  the  most  part  confined  to  her 
bed,  showed  such  enthusiasm  that  her  son  declared,  laugh 
ingly:  "I  declare,  mother,  one  would  think  you  were  going 
with  us." 

"I  am!"  was  the  quick  rejoinder.  "You  do  not  think  I  am 
going  to  be  left  behind  when  my  dear  daughter  and  her 
children  are  going  to  take  such  a  journey  as  that,  do  you? 
I  thought  you  had  more  sense,  James!" 

And  Grandma  did  go,  despite  her  years  and  her  infirmities. 

The  Reeds'  family  wagon  was  drawn  by  four  yoke  of  fine 
oxen,  and  their  provision  wagons  by  three.  They  had  also 
cows,  and  a  number  of  driving  and  saddle  horses,  among 
them  Virginia's  pony  Billy,  on  whose  back  she  had  been  held 
and  taught  to  ride  when  she  was  only  seven  years  old. 

The  provision  wagons  were  filled  to  overflowing  with  all 
sorts  of  supplies.  There  were  farming  implements,  to  be 
used  in  tilling  the  land  in  that  new  country  to  which  they 
were  going,  and  a  bountiful  supply  of  seeds.  Besides  these 
farm  supplies,  there  were  bolts  of  cotton  prints  and  flannel 
for  dresses  and  shirts,  also  gay  handkerchiefs,  beads,  and 
other  trinkets  to  be  used  for  barter  with  the  Indians.  More 
important  still,  carefully  stowed  away  was  a  store  of  fine 
laces,  rich  silks  and  velvets,  muslins  and  brocades,  to  be 
exchanged  for  Mexican  land-grants.  The  family  wagon, 
too,  had  been  fitted  up  with  every  kind  of  commodity,  in 
cluding  a  cooking-stove,  with  its  smoke-stack  carried  out 
through  the  canvas  roof  of  the  wagon,  and  a  looking-glass 
which  Mrs.  Reed's  friends  had  hung  on  the  canvas  wall 
opposite  the  wagon  door — "so  you  will  not  forget  to  keep 
your  good  looks,  they  said!" 

And  now  the  party  was  ready  to  start.  Among  its  number 
were  Mrs.  Reed  and  her  husband,  with  little  Patty,  the  two 

176 


VIRGINIA  REED 

small  boys,  James  and  Thomas,  and  the  older  daughter,  Vir 
ginia;  the  Donners,  George  and  Jacob,  with  their  wives  and 
children;  Milton  Elliott,  driver  of  the  Reed  family  wagon, 
who  had  worked  for  years  in  Mr.  Reed's  big  sawmill; 
Eliza  Baylis,  the  Reeds'  domestic,  with  her  brother  and  a 
number  of  other  young  men,  some  of  them  drivers,  others 
merely  going  for  adventure.  In  all,  on  that  lovely  April 
morning,  it  was  a  group  of  thirty-one  persons  around  whom 
friends  and  relatives  clustered  for  last  words  and  glimpses, 
and  it  was  a  sad  moment  for  all.  Mrs.  Reed  broke  down 
when  she  realized  that  the  moment  of  parting  had  really 
come,  while  Mr.  Reed,  in  response  to  the  good  wishes  show 
ered  on  him,  silently  gripped  hand  after  hand,  then  he  hur 
ried  into  the  house  with  Milt  Elliott,  and  presently  came  out 
carrying  Grandma,  at  the  sight  of  whom  her  friends  cheered 
lustily.  She  waved  her  thin  hand  in  response  as  she  was 
lifted  gently  into  the  wagon  and  placed  on  a  large  feather 
bed,  where  she  was  propped  up  with  pillows  and  declared 
herself  to  be  perfectly  comfortable. 

And  indeed  her  resting-place  was  very  much  like  a  room, 
for  the  wagon  had  been  built  with  its  entrance  at  the  side, 
like  an  old-fashioned  stage-coach,  and  from  the  door  one 
stepped  into  a  small  square  room.  At  the  right  and  left  were 
spring  seats  with  high  backs,  which  were  comfortable  for 
riding,  and  over  the  wheels  for  the  length  of  the  wagon,  a 
wide  board  had  been  placed,  making  what  Virginia  called  a 
"really  truly  second  story"  on  which  beds  were  made  up. 
Under  this  "second  story"  were  roomy  compartments  in 
which  were  stowed  away  stout  bags  holding  the  clothing  of 
the  party,  each  bag  plainly  marked  with  a  name.  There 
was  also  a  full  supply  of  medicines,  with  lint  and  bandages 
for  an  emergency,  and  Mr.  Reed  had  provided  a  good  library 
of  standard  books,  not  only  to  read  during  the  journey, 
but  knowing  they  could  not  be  bought  in  the  new  West. 

177 


TEN  AMERICAN  GIRLS   FROM  HISTORY 

Altogether,  from  provision  wagon  to  family  caravan,  there 
was  a  complete  equipment  for  every  need,  and  yet  when  they 
arrived  in  California,  as  one  of  the  party  said,  "We  were 
almost  destitute  of  everything !" 

The  wagons  were  loaded,  Grandma  was  safely  stowed  away 
in  her  warm  bed,  with  little  Patty  sitting  on  its  end  where 
she  could  hold  back  the  door  flap  that  the  old  lady  might 
have  a  last  glimpse  of  her  old  home — the  hard  farewells  had 
been  said,  and  now  Mr.  Reed  called  in  as  cheery  a  voice  as  he 
could  command,  "All  aboard!" 

Milton  Elliott  cracked  his  whip,  and  the  long  line  of 
prairie-wagons,  horses  and  cattle  started.  Then  came  a 
happy  surprise.  Into  saddles  and  vehicles  sprang  more 
than  a  score  of  friends  and  relatives  who  were  going  to  follow 
the  party  to  their  first  night's  encampment,  while  many  of 
Virginia's  schoolmates  ran  at  the  side  of  the  wagon  through 
the  principal  streets  of  the  town  until  one  by  one  they 
dropped  back  from  fatigue,  Virginia  waving  a  continued 
farewell  from  the  wagon  while  they  were  in  sight. 

The  first  day's  trip  was  not  a  long  one,  as  it  was  thought 
wise  to  make  the  start  easy  for  man  and  beast.  Most  of 
the  way  Virginia  rode  on  Billy,  sometimes  beside  the  wagon, 
then  again  galloping  ahead  with  her  father.  A  bridge  was 
seen  in  the  distance,  and  Patty  and  the  boys  cried  out  to 
Milton,  "Please  stop,  and  let  us  get  out  and  walk  over  it;  the 
oxen  may  not  take  us  across  safely!"  Milt  threw  back  his 
head  and  roared  with  laughter  at  such  an  idea,  but  he  halted 
to  humor  them,  then  with  a  skilful  use  of  his  loud-voiced 
"Gee!  and  Haw!"  made  the  huge  beasts  obey  his  will. 

On  the  line  of  great  wagons  wound  its  way  beyond  the 
town,  until  the  sun  was  sinking  in  the  west,  when  they 
stopped  for  the  night  on  the  ground  where  the  Illinois  State 
House  now  stands.  The  oxen  were  then  unhitched  and  the 
wagons  drawn  up  in  a  hollow  circle  or  "corral,"  within  the 

178 


VIRGINIA  REED 

protection  of  which  cattle  and  horses  were  set  free  for  the 
night,  while  outside  the  corral  a  huge  camp-fire  soon  blazed, 
around  which  the  party  gathered  for  their  first  evening  meal 
together,  and  their  last  one  with  those  friends  who  had  come 
thus  far  on  their  way  with  them.  It  was  a  determinedly 
merry  group  around  the  fire,  and  stories  were  told  and  songs 
sung,  which  to  the  radiant  Virginia  were  a  foretaste  of  such 
coming  adventure  as  was  beyond  her  wildest  dreams. 

As  she  sat  in  the  glow  of  the  camp-fire,  with  sleepy  Patty's 
head  pillowed  on  her  lap,  she  felt  even  more  than  before  the 
thrill  of  this  wonderful  adventuring.  To  keep  a  record  of 
her  travels, — that  was  the  thing  to  do!  Full  of  the  idea, 
she  pinned  together  sheets  of  wrapping-paper  into  a  bulky 
blank-book,  on  the  outside  of  which  she  printed: 

Going  to  California.     184.6. 

From  that  time  she  kept  a  faithful  though  not  a  continuous 
record  of  the  experiences  of  what  came  to  be  known  later  as 
"the  ill-fated  Donner  party  of  martyr  pioneers."  And 
from  that  record  she  later  wrote  her  story  of  their  journeying 
to  the  golden  West. 

By  the  eleventh  day  of  May  the  band  of  emigrants  had 
reached  the  town  of  Independence,  Missouri,  and  Virginia's 
record  says: 

"Men  and  beasts  are  in  fine  condition.  There  is  nothing 
in  all  the  world  so  fascinating  as  to  travel  by  day  in  the  warm 
sunshine  and  to  camp  by  night  under  the  stars.  Here  we 
are  just  outside  the  most  bustling  town  I  ever  saw  and  it  is 
good  news  to  find  a  large  number  of  inhabitants  with  their 
wagons,  ready  to  cross  the  prairie  with  us.  Who  knows, 
perhaps  some  new  friendships  will  be  made  as  we  all  go  on 
together!  They  all  seem  to  feel  as  eager  to  go  as  we  are,  and 
everybody  is  glad.  I  will  get  acquainted  with  as  many  as  I 

13  179 


TEN  AMERICAN  GIRLS   FROM  HISTORY 

can  now,  and  bring  cheerful  ones  to  visit  Grandma,  for  she 
feels  rather  homesick,  except  when  Patty  and  I  make  her 
laugh." 

Again,  "The  first  few  days  of  travel  through  the  Territory 
of  Kansas  were  lovely.  The  flowers  were  so  bright  and 
there  were  so  many  birds  singing.  Each  day  father  and  I 
would  ride  ahead  to  find  a  place  to  camp  that  night.  Some 
times  when  we  galloped  back  we  would  find  the  wagons 
halting  at  a  creek,  while  washing  was  done  or  the  young 
people  took  a  swim.  Mother  and  I  always  did  our  wash  at 
night,  and  spread  it  on  the  bushes  to  dry.  All  this  is  such  a 
peaceful  recital  that  I  began  to  think  I  need  not  keep  a  diary 
at  all,  till  one  hot  day  when  I  was  in  the  wagon  helping  Patty 
cut  out  some  doll's  dresses,  Jim  came  running  up  to  the 
wagon,  terribly  excited  and  crying  out : 

"'Indians,  Virginia!  Come  and  see!  They  have  to  take 
us  across  the  river!'  Out  he  rushed  and  I  after  him,  with 
every  story  Grandma  ever  told  us  dancing  through  my 
brain.  Now  there  was  going  to  be  an  adventure!  But 
there  wasn't.  We  had  reached  the  Caw  River,  where  there 
were  Indians  to  ferry  us  across.  They  were  real  and  red 
and  terrifying,  but  I  never  flinched.  If  they  brought  out 
tomahawks  in  midstream,  I  would  be  as  brave  as  a  pioneer's 
daughter  should  be.  But  would  you  believe  me,  those 
Indians  were  as  tame  as  pet  canaries,  and  just  shot  us  across 
the  river  without  glancing  at  us,  and  held  out  their  big  hands 
with  a  grunt,  for  the  coins!  That  was  one  of  the  greatest 
disappointments  of  my  life." 

All  went  well  with  the  travelers  during  those  first  weeks  of 
the  trip,  and  no  one  enjoyed  it  more  than  Grandma  Keyes 
after  she  got  over  being  homesick.  But  when  they  reached 
the  Big  Blue  river,  it  was  so  swollen  that  they  had  to  lie  by 
and  wait  for  it  to  go  down,  or  make  rafts  to  cross  it  on.  As 
soon  as  they  stopped  traveling  Grandma  began  to  fail, 

1 80 


VIRGINIA  REED 

and  on  the  29th  of  May,  with  scarcely  any  pain,  she  died. 
Virginia's  diary  says:  "It  was  hard  to  comfort  mother  until 
I  persuaded  her  that  to  die  out  in  that  lovely  country,  and 
with  most  of  your  family  around  you,  was  far  better  than 
living  longer  at  home.  Besides,  she  might  have  died  in 
Springfield.  So  mother  cheered  up  a  little,  while  all  the 
party  helped  us  in  making  the  sad  preparations.  A  coffin 
was  made  from  a  cotton-wood  tree,  and  a  young  man  from 
home  found  a  gray  stone  slab  and  cut  Grandma's  name, 
birthplace,  and  age  on  it.  A  minister  of  the  party  made  a 
simple  address,  and  with  the  sunlight  filtering  through  the 
trees  we  buried  her  under  an  oak-tree  and  covered  the  grave 
with  wild  flowers.  Then  we  had  to  go  on  our  way  and  leave 
dear  Grandma  in  the  vast  wilderness,  which  was  so  hard  for 
mother  that  for  many  days  I  did  not  take  my  rides  on  Billy, 
but  just  stayed  with  her.  But  the  landscape  was  so  comfort 
ingly  beautiful  that  at  last  she  cheered  up  and  began  to  feel 
that  Grandma  was  not  left  alone  in  the  forest,  but  was  with 
God.  Strange  to  say,  that  grave  in  the  woods  has  never 
been  disturbed;  around  it  grew  up  the  city  of  Manhattan, 
Kansas,  and  there  it  is  in  the  city  cemetery  of  to-day." 

The  river  did  not  go  down,  as  the  men  had  hoped,  so  they 
began  to  cut  down  trees  and  split  them  into  twenty-five-foot 
logs  which  were  hollowed  out  and  joined  together  by  cross 
timbers,  these  were  firmly  lashed  to  stakes  driven  into  the 
bank,  and  ropes  were  tied  to  each  end  to  pull  the  rafts  back 
and  forth  across  the  river.  It  was  no  easy  matter  to  get  the 
heavy  wagons  down  the  steep  bank  to  the  rafts,  and  they 
had  to  be  held  back  by  the  ropes  and  let  down  slowly  so  the 
wheels  would  run  into  the  hollowed  logs.  The  women  and 
children  stayed  in  the  wagons,  and  talked  and  laughed  gaily, 
that  they  might  not  show  the  fear  they  felt  as  they  balanced 
above  the  swollen  river.  But  it  was  crossed  safely  and  then 
on  the  oxen  jogged  over  a  rough  road  until  the  great  Valley 

181 


TEN  AMERICAN  GIRLS  FROM  HISTORY 

of  the  Platte  was  reached,"where  the  road  was  good  and  the 
country  beautiful  beyond  expression.  Virginia  says:  "Our 
party  was  now  so  large  that  there  was  a  line  of  forty  wagons 
winding  its  way  like  a  serpent  through  the  valley.  There 
was  no  danger  of  any  kind,  and  each  day  was  happier  than 
the  one  before.  How  I  enjoyed  galloping  over  the  plains  on 
Billy!"  she  exclaims,  adding,  "At  night  we  young  folks 
would  sit  around  the  camp-fire,  chatting  merrily,  and  often  a 
song  would  be  heard,  or  some  clever  dancer  would  give  us  a 
barn-door  jig  on  the  hind  gate  of  a  wagon!*' 

The  caravan  wound  its  slow  way  westward,  making  from 
fifteen  to  twenty  miles  a  day,  and  always  at  night,  when  the 
party  camped,  a  corral  was  formed  to  protect  the  cattle  from 
thieving  Indians,  who,  says  Virginia,  sadly,  "are  not  like 
grandma's  Indians.  They  treat  us  kindly  except  for  taking 
our  things,  which  is  annoying  but  not  terrifying."  And  she 
adds,  "We  have  fine  fare  for  those  who  like  to  eat  game,  as 
we  have  so  many  good  riflemen  in  the  party  who  are  always 
bringing  it  in."  She  then  confesses,  "I  certainly  never 
thought  I  would  be  relishing  antelope  and  buffalo  steaks, 
but  they  are  good  food  when  one  has  grown  used  to  them. 
Often  I  ride  with  father  in  a  buffalo  hunt,  which  is  very 
thrilling.  We  all  help  Eliza,  who  has  turned  into  a  fine  camp 
cook.  As  soon  as  we  reach  the  place  where  we  are  to  spend 
the  night  all  hands  get  to  work,  and,  my,  but  things  taste 
good  when  that  meal  is  ready!  When  we  drove  into  the 
South  Fork  of  the  Platte,  Eliza  had  the  cream  ready  to  churn, 
and  while  we  were  fording  the  stream  she  worked  so  hard  that 
she  turned  out  several  pounds  of  butter." 

The  diary  gives  quite  a  long  narrative  here  as  follows: 

"By  the  Fourth  of  July  we  were  near  Fort  Laramie  in 

Dakota,  and  what  a  sight  I  saw  as  we  approached  the  fort. 

'Grandma's  Indians!'  I  exclaimed,  as  I  saw  bands  of  horses 

grazing  on  the  plains  and  Indians  smeared  with  war-paint 

182 


VIRGINIA  REED 

and  armed  with  hunting -knives,  tomahawks,  bows  and 
arrows,  moving  about  in  the  sunlight.  They  did  not  seem  to 
notice  us  as  we  drove  up  to  the  strongly  fortified  walls 
around  the  buildings  of  the  American  Fur  Company,  but  by 
the  time  we  were  ready  to  leave,  the  red  men  and  their 
squaws  were  pressing  close  to  the  wagons  to  take  trinkets 
which  we  had  ready  for  them.  Little  Patty  stood  by  me 
and  every  now  and  then  she  squeezed  my  arm  and  cried, 
'Look!  Look!'  as  the  Indians  crowded  around  us.  Many  of 
the  squaws  and  papooses  were  gorgeous  in  white  doeskin 
suits  gaily  trimmed  with  beads,  and  were  very  different  from 
us  in  our  linsey  dresses  and  sunbonnets. 

"As  soon  as  father  met  the  manager  of  the  Fur  Company* 
he  advised  us  to  go  right  on  as  soon  as  we  could,  because  he 
said  the  Sioux  were  on  the  war-path,  going  to  fight  the  Crows 
or  Blackfeet,  and  their  march  would  be  through  the  country 
which  we  had  to  cross,  and  they  might  treat  us  badly,  or  rob 
us,  as  they  were  in  an  ugly  humor.  This  greatly  frightened 
some  of  the  women,  and  to  calm  them  the  men  cleaned  and 
loaded  their  rifles  and  did  everything  they  could  to  hurry 
away  from  the  fort.  We  were  there  only  four  days,  and 
when  we  drove  away  we  met  the  mounted  Indians,  about 
three  hundred  of  them,  tomahawks,  war-paint,  and  all! 
They  looked  very  handsome  and  impressive  as  they  advanced 
in  a  stately  procession,  two  abreast,  and  rode  on  before  our 
train,  then  halted  and  opened  ranks.  As  our  wagons  passed 
between  their  lines  they  took  green  twigs  from  between  their 
teeth  and  tossed  them  to  us  in  token  of  friendship.  Then, 
having  shown  their  good  faith,  they  crowded  around  our 
wagons  and  showed  great  curiosity  at  the  funny  little  smoke 
stack  sticking  through  the  top  of  our  family  wagon.  A  brave 
caught  a  glimpse  of  his  war-paint  and  feathers  in  our  looking- 
glass,  which  hung  opposite  the  door,  and  he  was  fascinated. 
Beckoning  to  his  comrades,  he  pointed  to  it,  and  to  the 


TEN  AMERICAN  GIRLS  FROM  HISTORY 

strange  reflection  of  himself,  and  they  all  fairly  pushed  to 
the  front,  to  see  themselves,  in  the  glass.  Unfortunately  at 
that  time  I  rode  up  on  Billy,  and  at  once  the  Indians  forgot 
everything  except  their  admiration  of  my  pony.  They 
swarmed  around  me,  grunting,  nodding,  and  gesturing,  and 
brought  buffalo  robes  and  tanned  buckskin,  also  pretty 
beaded  moccasins  and  robes  made  of  grass,  and  signed  to  me 
that  they  would  give  all  these  in  exchange  for  Billy.  I 
shook  my  head  as  hard  as  I  could  shake  it,  but  they  were 
determined  to  have  Billy.  They  made  signs  that  they 
would  give  their  ponies  for  mine,  but  again  I  shook  my  head. 
They  talked  together  awhile,  then  one  of  them  triumphantly 
brought  me  an  old  coat  which  had  evidently  belonged  to  a 
soldier,  and  seemed  much  surprised  that  its  brass  buttons 
were  not  enough  of  an  inducement  to  make  me  give  up  the 
coveted  prize.  Though  both  father  and  I  continued  to 
refuse  their  request  as  positively  as  ever,  they  still  swarmed 
around  us  and  looked  at  me  in  a  most  embarrassing  way.  I 
did  not  mind  much,  but  father  seemed  angry  and  he  said, 
sternly:  'Virginia,  you  dismount  at  once  and  let  one  of  the 
men  take  Billy.  Get  into  the  wagon  now/  When  father 
spoke  in  that  way  I  was  never  slow  to  obey,  so  I  climbed 
into  the  wagon,  and,  being  anxious  to  get  a  better  look  at  the 
Indians,  I  took  a  field-glass  out  of  the  rack  where  it  hung  and 
put  it  to  my  eyes.  The  glass  clicked  as  I  took  it  from  the 
rack  and  like  a  flash  the  Indians  wheeled  their  ponies  and 
scattered,  taking  the  noise  for  the  click  of  firearms.  I  turned 
to  mother  and  laughed. 

"'You  see  you  need  not  be  afraid,  mother  dear,'  I  said; 
'I  can  fight  the  whole  Sioux  tribe  with  a  spy-glass!  If  they 
come  near  the  wagon  again  just  watch  me  take  it  up  and  see 
them  run!" 

Those  were  happy  days  of  adventuring  in  a  new  and 
smiling  country,  and  all  were  in  high  spirits  when  on  the  I9th 

184 


VIRGINIA  REED 

of  July  they  reached  the  Little  Sandy  River,  where 
they  encamped,  and  all  gathered  together  to  talk  over 
whether  to  take  a  new  route  which  had  been  opened  up  by 
Mr.  Lansford  Hastings,  called  the  Hastings  Cut-off.  This 
route  passed  along  the  southern  shore  of  the  Great  Salt 
Lake,  then  joined  the  Old  Fort  Hall  emigrant  road  on  the 
Humboldt  River.  The  new  route  was  said  to  shorten  the 
trip  by  about  three  hundred  miles,  and  Virginia  says  in  her 
diary,  "Father  was  so  eager  to  reach  California  quickly,  that 
he  was  strongly  in  favor  of  taking  the  Cut-off,  while  others 
were  equally  firm  in  their  objections  to  taking  such  a  risk. 
At  that  time  our  party  had  grown  to  be  a  large  one,  for  so 
many  families  had  joined  us  on  our  way  across  the  plains, 
and  all  had  to  have  their  say  about  the  matter. 

"There  was  a  long  discussion  of  the  merits  of  the  two 
routes,  and  as  a  result,  at  last  we  decided  to  split  up,  for  a 
number  of  the  party  preferred  not  to  risk  taking  the  new 
route,  while  eighty-seven  of  us,  including  our  family  and  the 
Donners,  decided  to  take  the  Cut-off. 

"  On  the  2Oth  of  July  we  broke  camp  and  left  the  little 
Sandy,  the  other  division  of  the  party  taking  the  old  trail 
to  Fort  Hall,  and  the  rest  of  us,  who  were  called  ' the  Donner 
party'  from  that  time,  taking  the  new  one. 

"When  we  reached  Fort  Bridger,  we  were  told  that  Mr. 
Hastings,  whom  we  had  expected  to  find  there,  had  gone 
ahead  to  pilot  a  large  emigrant  train,  and  had  left  word  that 
all  later  bands  were  to  follow  his  trail;  that  they  would  find 
an  abundant  supply  of  wood,  water,  and  pasturage  along  the 
whole  line  of  road  except  for  one  forty-mile  drive;  that  there 
were  no  difficult  canons  to  pass;  and  that  the  road  was  mostly 
good.  This  was  encouraging  and  we  traveled  on  comfort 
ably  for  a  week,  when  we  reached  the  spot  where  Webber 
River  breaks  through  the  mountains  into  a  canon.  There, 
by  the  side  of  the  road,  was  a  forked  branch  with  a  note 

1*5 


TEN  AMERICAN  GIRLS  FROM  HISTORY 

stuck  in  its  cleft,  left  by  Hastings,  saying,  'I  advise  all  par 
ties  to  encamp  and  wait  for  my  return.  The  road  I  have 
taken  is  so  rough  that  I  fear  wagons  will  not  be  able  to  get 
through  to  the  Great  Salt  Lake  Valley/  He  mentioned 
another  and  better  route  which  avoided  the  canon  alto 
gether,  and  at  once  father,  Mr.  Stanton  and  William  Pike 
said  they  would  go  ahead  over  this  road,  and  if  possible  meet 
Hastings  and  bring  him  back  to  pilot  us  through  to  the 
valley. 

"  While  the  men  went  off  to  try  to  find  Hastings,  we  en 
camped  and  waited  for  them  to  come  back.  In  five  days 
father  came  alone,  having  become  separated  from  his  com 
panions,  who  he  feared  might  have  been  lost.  They  had 
met  Hastings,  but  he  had  refused  to  leave  his  party  for  their 
sake.  Finally,  however,  father  had  insisted  that  he  go  with 
them  to  a  high  peak  of  the  Wahsatch  Mountains  and  from 
there  point  out  to  them  the  direction  our  party  ought  to  take. 
Coming  down  from  the  peak,  father  lost  sight  of  Stanton 
and  Pike  and  was  forced  to  come  on  alone,  taking  notes  and 
blazing  trees  to  help  him  in  retracing  his  path  when  he  should 
have  us  to  guide.  Searchers  were  at  once  sent  out  after  the 
lost  men,  while  we  broke  camp  and  started  on  our  risky 
journey.  It  was  easy  enough  traveling  at  first,  but  the  fol 
lowing  day  we  were  brought  to  a  sudden  stop  by  a  patch  of 
dense  woodland  which  it  took  a  whole  day's  chopping  to 
open  up  enough  for  our  wagons  to  pass  through.  From 
there  we  chopped  and  pushed  our  way  through  what  seemed 
an  impassable  wilderness  of  high  peaks  and  rock-bound 
canons,  and  then  faced  a  great  rough  gulch.  Believing  it 
would  lead  out  to  the  valley,  our  men  again  set  to  work 
vigorously,  and  for  six  long  days  they  chopped  until  they 
were  almost  exhausted.  Then  a  new  party  of  emigrants 
caught  up  with  us  and,  aided  by  three  fresh  men,  the  eight- 
mile  road  through  the  gulch  was  finished  It  did  not  lead 

186 


VIRGINIA  REED 

to  the  opening  we  had  expected,  but  into  a  pretty  mountain 
dell,  but  we  were  happy,  because  we  found  the  searchers 
there  with  Mr.  Stanton  and  Mr.  Pike.  They  reported  that 
we  must  go  back  on  the  newly  made  road  and  cross  a  more 
distant  range  of  mountains  in  order  to  strike  the  trail  to  the 
valley.  That  was  a  moment  of  terror,  even  to  the  most 
courageous  of  our  valiant  band,  but  everyone  forced  a  smile 
and  a  cheerful  word  as  we  started  to  retrace  our  way.  We 
had  five  days  more  of  traveling  and  road-making,  and 
climbed  a  mountain  so  steep  that  six  yoke  of  oxen  had  to  pull 
each  wagon  up  the  steep  ascent.  Then  we  crossed  the  river 
flowing  from  Utah  Lake  to  Great  Salt  Lake  and  at  last 
found  the  trail  of  the  Hastings  party,  thirty  days  after  we 
set  out  for  the  point  we  had  expected  to  reach  in  ten  or 
twelve  days. 

"While  we  rested  we  took  an  inventory  of  our  provisions, 
and  found  the  supply  was  not  sufficient  to  last  until  we 
should  reach  California.  Here  was  a  predicament!  Mr. 
Donner  called  for  volunteers  to  ride  ahead  on  horseback  to 
Sutter's  Fort,  to  tell  of  our  sorry  plight  and  ask  Captain  Sut- 
ter  to  send  back  provisions  by  them  for  us,  as  we  traveled 
toward  them.  Mr.  Stanton  and  Mr.  McCutchen  said  they 
would  go  to  the  fort,  and  rode  away  on  their  errand  of  mercy. 

"Our  wagons,  meanwhile,  wound  their  slow  way  along,  far 
behind  the  horsemen,  who  were  soon  out  of  our  sight,  and 
two  days  later  we  found  a  lovely  green  valley  where  there 
were  twenty  wells  of  clear,  sparkling  water  to  cool  our 
parched  throats,  which  were  only  used  to  the  alkaline  pools 
from  which  we  had  been  obliged  to  drink.  Close  beside  the 
largest  well  we  found  a  rough  board,  stuck  in  the  ground 
with  strips  of  white  paper  pinned  to  it,  and  around  the  board 
pieces  of  the  paper  were  strewn  on  the  turf,  as  if  they  had 
been  torn  off  the  board.  'There  has  been  some  message 
written  on  that  paper.  We  must  piece  the  bits  together/ 


TEN  AMERICAN  GIRLS  FROM  HISTORY 

declared  Mrs.  Donner.  No  sooner  said  than  done.  Laying 
the  board  on  her  lap,  she  began  to  patch  the  scraps  together, 
while  we  eagerly  watched  her.  At  last  the  words  could  be 
read:  '2  days — 2  nights — hard  driving — cross — desert — 
reach  water/  This  was  evidently  meant  as  a  warning  to  us, 
and  the  thought  of  two  days'  hard  driving  through  the  desert 
was  anything  but  cheering.  In  fact,  it  would  be  such  a  strain 
on  our  cattle  that  we  remained  where  we  were,  with  the  fine 
water  to  drink  and  good  pasturage  for  three  days.  Then  we 
filled  our  water  casks,  made  all  other  preparations  for  the 
forty-mile  drive,  and  started  off  again.  We  traveled  for 
two  days  and  nights,  suffering  from  heat  and  thirst  by  day 
and  from  bitter  cold  by  night.  At  the  end  of  the  second  day 
we  still  saw  the  vast  desert  ahead  of  us  as  far  as  we  could 
look.  There  was  no  more  fodder  for  our  cattle,  our  water- 
casks  were  empty,  and  the  burning  rays  of  the  sun  scorched 
us  with  pitiless  and  overpowering  heat.  Father  rode  on 
ahead  in  search  of  water,  and  scarcely  had  he  left  us  than 
our  beasts  began  to  drop  from  exhaustion  and  thirst.  Their 
drivers  instantly  unhitched  them  and  drove  them  ahead, 
hoping  to  meet  father  and  find  wells  where  the  thirsty 
beasts  could  be  refreshed.  They  did  find  father  and  he 
showed  them  the  way  to  wells  he  had  found  where  the  beasts 
could  drink,  then  he  traveled  back  to  us,  reaching  our  camp 
at  dawn.  We  waited  all  that  day  in  the  desert,  with  the  sun 
beating  down  on  us  with  cruel  heat,  and  still  drivers  and 
cattle  had  not  come  back.  It  was  a  desperate  plight,  for 
another  night  without  water  would  mean  death.  We  must 
set  out  on  foot  and  try  to  reach  some  of  the  other  wagons, 
whose  owners  had  gone  ahead."  Virginia  adds,  "Never 
shall  I  forget  that  night,  when  we  walked, mile  after  mile  in 
the  darkness,  every  step  seeming  to  be  the  very  last  we  could 
take,  each  of  us  who  were  older  and  stronger,  taking  turns 
in  carrying  the  younger  children.  Suddenly  out  of  the 

188 


VIRGINIA   REED 

black  night  came  a  swift,  rushing  noise  of  one  of  the  young 
steers,  who  was  crazed  by  thirst  and  rushing  madly  toward 
us.  Father  snatched  up  little  Patty,  and  commanded  the 
rest  of  us  to  keep  close  to  his  side,  while  he  drew  his  pistol. 
We  could  hear  the  heavy  snorting  of  the  maddened  beast, 
when  he  turned  and  dashed  off*  into  the  darkness,  leaving 
us  weak  and  shivering  with  fright  and  relief.  And  still  we 
were  obliged  to  drag  our  weary  feet  on,  for  ten  long  miles, 
when  we  reached  the  Jacob  Donner  wagons.  The  family 
were  all  asleep  inside,  so  we  lay  down  on  the  ground  under 
the  protecting  shadow  of  the  family  wagon.  A  bitter  wind 
was  howling  across  the  desert,  and  it  so  chilled  us  that  we 
crept  close  together,  and  if  all  five  of  our  dogs  had  not 
snuggled  up  close  to  us,  warming  us  with  the  heat  from  their 
big  bodies,  we  would  probably  had  died  from  cold. 

"  At  dawn  father  rushed  off  to  find  his  cattle,  but  in  vain. 
He  met  the  drivers,  who  told  him  that  as  the  frenzied  beasts 
were  being  driven  toward  the  wells,  they  had  broken  loose 
and  been  lost  in  the  darkness.  At  once  all  the  men  of  the 
company  turned  out  to  help  father  to  search  for  them,  but 
none  were  ever  found  except  one  ox  and  a  cow,  and  in  that 
plight  we  were  left  stranded  on  the  desert,  eight  hundred 
miles  from  California!  To  turn  back  to  Fort  Bridger  was  an 
impossibility — to  go  forward  meant  such  hardship  as 
blanched  even  my  sun-reddened  cheeks,  and  I  shuddered  at 
the  thought  that  mother  must  live  through  greater  priva 
tions  than  those  we  had  already  encountered.  Well  it  was 
that  the  future  was  hidden  from  our  eyes  on  that  day  in  the 
desert! 

"  Two  oxen  were  loaned  father,  which,  yoked  together  with 
our  one  cow  and  ox,  would  draw  one  wagon,  but  not  the 
family  one,  which  had  grown  to  be  so  home-like  to  us  in  our 
journeyings.  It  was  decided  to  dig  a  trench,  and  cache  all 
of  our  things  except  those  which  we  could  take  in  the  one 

189 


TEN  AMERICAN  GIRLS  FROM  HISTORY 

wagon.  A  cache  is  made  by  digging  a  hole  in  the  ground  and 
sinking  in  it  the  bed  of  a  wagon,  in  which  articles  are  packed; 
the  hole  is  then  covered  with  boards  and  earth,  so  they  are 
completely  hidden,  and  when  we  buried  ours  we  hoped  some 
day  to  return  and  take  them  away.5* 

Having  cached  so  many  of  their  treasures,  on  the  party  went 
as  bravely  as  possible  until  they  reached  Gravelly  Ford  on 
the  Humboldt,  where  on  the  5th  of  October  there  was  such 
a  tragic  occurrence  that  Virginia  says,  "I  grew  up  into  a 
woman  in  a  night,  and  life  was  never  the  same  again,  al 
though  for  the  sake  of  mother  and  the  children  I  hid  my 
feelings  as  well  as  I  could. 

Here  her  record  is  detailed,  and  as  concise  as  possible. 
She  writes: 

"I  will  tell  it  as  clearly  and  quickly  as  I  can.  We  had 
reached  a  short  sandy  hill,  and  as  the  oxen  were  all  tired,  it  was 
the  custom  at  such  places  for  the  drivers  to  double  up  teams 
and  help  one  another  up  the  hill.  A  driver  named  Snyder, 
for  some  unaccountable  reason,  decided  to  go  up  alone.  His 
oxen  could  not  pull  their  load,  and  Snyder,  angry  at  them, 
began  to  beat  them.  Father,  who  had  gone  on  ahead,  looking 
for  the  best  road,  came  back,  and  in  trying  to  make  Snyder 
stop  abusing  his  beasts,  roused  his  anger  to  the  point  of 
frenzy.  Father  said,  'We  can  settle  this,  John,  when  we 
get  up  the  hill/  'No,5  said  Snyder.  'We  will  settle  it 
now!*  and,  jumping  on  the  tongue  of  his  wagon,  he  struck 
father  a  hard  blow  over  the  head  with  his  heavy  whip-stock. 
One  blow  followed  another,  and  father  was  stunned,  as  well 
as  blinded  by  the  blood  streaming  down  from  the  gashes  in 
his  head.  The  whip  was  about  to  drop  again  when  mother 
sprang  between  the  two  men.  Father  saw  the  uplifted 
whip  and  had  only  time  to  cry  'John!  John!'  when  down 
came  the  blow  on  mother's  head.  Quick  as  a  flash  father's 
hunting-knife  was  out  and  Snyder  fell,  mortally  wounded, 

190 


VIRGINIA  REED 

and  fifteen  minutes  later  died.  Then  father  realized,  too 
late,  what  he  had  done.  Dashing  the  blood  from  his  eyes, 
he  knelt  over  the  dying  man,  who  had  been  his  friend,  with 
remorse  and  agony  in  his  expression. 

"  Camp  was  pitched  at  once,  our  wagon  being  some  dis 
tance  from  the  others,  and  father,  whose  head  was  badly 
cut,  came  to  me. 

"  Daughter,'  he  asked,  'do  you  think  you  can  dress  these 
wounds  in  my  head  ?  Your  mother  is  not  able  and  they 
must  be  attended  to/  I  said,  promptly:  'Yes,  if  you  will 
tell  me  what  to  do/  Then  we  went  into  the  wagon,  where 
we  would  not  be  disturbed,  and  I  washed  and  dressed  his 
wounds  as  best  I  could.  When  I  had  done  what  he  told  me 
to  do,  I  burst  out  crying,  and  father  clasped  me  in  his  arms, 
saying:  'I  should  not  have  asked  so  much  of  you!'  I  told 
him  it  was  pity  for  him  that  made  me  cry.  Then  he  talked 
to  me  quietly  until  I  had  controlled  my  feelings  and  was  able 
to  go  back  to  the  tent  where  mother  was  lying,  weak  and 
dazed  by  the  happenings  of  the  day.  And  there  were  worse 
things  to  come.  In  our  party  there  was  a  man  who  had 
been  in  the  habit  of  beating  his  wife  until  father  told  him  he 
must  either  stop  it  or  measures  would  be  taken  to  make  him. 
He  did  not  dare  abuse  her  again,  but  he  hated  father  from 
that  time,  and  now  he  had  his  chance  for  revenge.  After 
Snyder  had  been  buried,  and  father  had  sadly  watched  the 
last  clod  of  earth  piled  on  the  grave,  the  men  of  the  party 
held  a  conference  from  which  our  family  were  excluded. 
We  waited  a  short  distance  away,  in  terrified  suspense  to 
know  the  outcome  of  it,  as  we  were  sure  it  concerned  father. 
And  it  did.  His  plea  of  self-defense  was  not  acceptable  to 
them,  they  said,  and  we  shivered  as  we  saw  such  bitterness 
on  the  men's  faces  as  seemed  sure  would  lead  to  lynching. 
Father  saw  it,  but  he  was  no  coward.  Baring  his  neck,  he 
stepped  forward,  and  proudly  said,  'Come  on,  gentlemen!' 

191 


TEN  AMERICAN  GIRLS  FROM  HISTORY 

No  one  moved,  and  presently  he  was  told  that  he  must 
leave  the  party,  an  exile — must  go  out  in  the  wilderness  alone 
without  food  or  weapons.  It  was  a  cruel  sentence,  for  it 
might  result  either  in  starvation  or  in  murder  by  the  Indians, 
and  it  is  no  wonder  that  mother  was  beside  herself  with 
fright,  that  we  children  knew  not  what  to  do  or  where  to  turn 
for  help.  Father  heard  the  sentence  in  silence,  then  facing 
the  group  of  old-time  friends,  with  brave  eyes,  he  said: 
*  I  will  not  go.  My  act  was  one  of  self-defense,  and  as  such 
is  justified  before  God  and  man/ 

"  Meanwhile,  my  mother  had  been  thinking,  as  she  told  me 
later,  and  she  begged  father  to  accept  the  sentence  and  leave 
the  party,  thinking  it  would  be  less  dangerous  than  to  re 
main  among  men  who  had  become  his  enemies.  He  firmly 
refused  until  she  pleaded  that  the  whole  party  were  now 
practically  destitute  of  food,  and  if  he  remained,  as  an  out 
cast,  he  would  be  obliged  to  see  his  children  starve,  while  by 
going  he  might  be  able  to  meet  them  with  food  which  he 
had  procured  somewhere.  After  a  fearful  struggle  with  his 
own  desires,  father  consented,  but  not  until  the  men  of  the 
party  had  promised  to  care  for  his  innocent  wife  and  chil 
dren.  Then,  after  he  had  held  mother  in  his  arms  for  a  long 
agonized  moment,  he  turned  to  me,  and  I  forced  my  eyes  to 
meet  his  with  such  fearless  trust  that  he  looked  less  despair 
ing  as  he  picked  up  Patty  for  a  last  hug  and  gripped  the  boys 
with  an  emotion  too  deep  for  any  words;  then  he  went  off,  an 
exile  in  the  desert. 

"I  had  no  idea  what  I  was  going  to  do  about  it,  but  I  knew 
I  must  do  something.  Through  the  long  hours  of  the  day, 
while  I  was  busy  soothing  and  comforting  mother,  who  felt 
it  keenly  that  we  were  left  as  much  alone  as  if  we  were  lepers, 
I  was  thinking  busily.  Our  wagon  was  drawn  up  apart 
from  the  others,  and  we  ate  our  scanty  evening  meal  in 
silence.  Milt  Elliott  and  some  others  tried  to  talk  with  us, 

192 


VIRGINIA  REED 

and  show  their  friendliness,  but  mother  would  only  answer 
in  monosyllables  and  commanded  the  children  to  do  the 
same.  We  were  an  utterly  desolate,  frightened  group  as 
darkness  fell  over  us.  I  was  busy  helping  the  children  get 
to  bed,  and  then  I  found  mother  in  such  a  state  of  collapse 
that  I  could  think  of  nothing  but  comforting  and  quieting 
her. 

"At  last  she  fell  asleep,  and  I  crept  to  my  bed,  but  I  could 
not  sleep.  I  must  act.  At  last,  I  made  a  decision.  I  was 
strong  and  fearless,  and  father  had  no  food  or  light  or  sup 
plies,  out  there  alone  in  the  trackless  wilderness.  I  stole 
to  my  mother's  side  and  she  roused  at  my  light  touch. 

"Mother,  dear,5  I  whispered,  'I  am  going  out  to  find 
father  and  take  him  some  food,  and  his  gun,  and  ammuni 
tion.'  She  roused  and  exclaimed: 

"'What  do  you  mean,  child?  You  cannot  find  your 
father!' 

"'I'm  not  going  alone/  I  replied  'I've  asked  Milt  and  he 
says  he'll  go  with  me/ 

Without  giving  her  a  chance  to  say  I  must  not  go,  I  hur 
ried  to  the  supply-chest  and  found  some  crackers,  a  small 
piece  of  bacon,  some  coffee  and  sugar.  I  took  a  tin  cup,  too, 
and  a  dipper  for  father  to  make  coffee  in,  and  packed  his 
gun,  pistols,  and  ammunition  with  them.  His  lantern  was 
on  the  shelf,  and  I  put  a  fresh  piece  of  candle  in  it  and 
matches  in  my  pocket — then  I  was  ready  to  start. 

"Everything  had  to  be  done  very  quickly  and  quietly,  for 
there  would  be  a  great  risk  if  the  children  knew  what  I  was 
going  to  do,  or  if  any  others  of  the  party  discovered  my  in 
tention.  So  I  did  everything  on  tip-toe,  and  holding  my 
breath  for  fear  of  being  discovered. 

"  Mother  called,  'Virginia! '  and  I  went  to  her  side.  'How 
will  you  find  him  in  the  darkness?' 

"'I  shall  look  for  his  horse's  tracks  and  follow  them/  I 

193 


TEN  AMERICAN  GIRLS   FROM  HISTORY 

whispered.  At  that  moment  Milton's  cautious  step  was 
heard  at  the  side  of  the  wagon,  and  with  a  last  hug  mother 
released  me,  and  Milt  and  I  stole  off  on  our  dangerous 
expedition. 

"  Out  into  the  darkness  we  crept.  Stealthily  we  hid  in  the 
shadows  cast  by  the  wagons  in  the  flickering  light  of  the 
dying  camp-fire — cautiously  we  stole  up  behind  the  unsus 
picious  sentinel  who  was  wearily  tramping  back  and  forth, 
and  we  held  our  breath  for  fright  as  he  suddenly  looked  over 
the  sleeping  camp,  then  peered  out  into  the  mysterious 
darkness  of  the  desert,  but  he  did  not  see  us.  For  safety  we 
lay  down  on  the  ground,  and  silently  dragged  our  bodies 
along  until  we  were  well  out  of  his  sight  and  hearing;  then 
we  pushed  our  feet  along  without  lifting  them,  to  be  sure 
they  did  not  fall  into  some  unseen  hole  or  trap,  and  now  and 
again  we  were  startled  by  some  noise  that  to  our  excited 
senses  seemed  to  mean  that  a  wild  animal  was  near  us. 
My  eyes  had  been  searching  the  darkness  around  and  before 
us,  and  at  last  I  whispered: 

" '  Stop,  Milt.     Let  us  light  the  lantern ! ' 

"  'Then  stooping  down,  I  spread  out  my  skirts  so  that  not 
the  slightest  flash  of  a  match  or  gleam  of  light  could  be  seen 
by  the  sentinel  or  by  any  one  in  the  encampment.  Milton 
lighted  the  lantern.  I  took  it  in  one  hand,  and  with  the 
other  held  my  skirts  up  in  such  a  way  as  to  shield  its  beams, 
and  in  its  feeble  light  I  searched  the  ground  still  frantically 
for  some  trace  of  the  footprints  of  father's  horse.  Although 
I  was  nervous  and  excited  enough  to  fly  on  the  wings  of 
lightning,  I  did  not  let  the  feeling  get  the  better  of  me,  but 
made  a  deliberate  search  of  every  inch  of  ground,  making  a 
complete  circle  around  the  outskirts  of  the  camp,  for  I  was 
determined  to  find  those  tracks.  At  last!  There  they 
were,  unmistakable  and  clear.  I  gave  a  smothered  cry  and 
showed  them  to  Milt.  Then,  still  with  the  lantern  care- 

194 


VIRGINIA    GOES    FORTH    TO    FIND    HER    EXILED    FATHER 


VIRGINIA  REED 

fully  covered,  so  that  no  unguarded  flash  might  bring  a 
death -dealing  shot  from  the  sentinel's  rifle,  I  followed 
where  they  led,  Milt  close  behind,  carrying  the  gun  and 
provisions.  Mile  after  mile  we  followed — followed,  now 
seeing  the  tracks,  now  losing  them.  Oh  what  an  agony 
was  compressed  in  those  awful  hours ! 

"  Suddenly  on  the  midnight  air  came  the  wild  howl  of  coy 
otes.  From  the  distance  echoed  an  even  more  hideous  cry — 
that  of  the  panther,  seeking  for  prey.  At  that  sound 
Milton's  hair  literally  stood  on  end,  and  if  I  had  shown  one 
sign  of  weakening  he  would  gladly  have  given  up  the  search. 
But  I  went  on,  closing  my  ears  to  the  dreaded  sounds.  All 
of  a  sudden  my  heart  beat  so  wildly  that  I  was  obliged  to 
press  my  hand  over  it  to  quiet  its  hammering.  What  I 
heard  or  saw  or  felt  I  can  never  explain,  but  I  know  that  all 
the  terror  of  my  thirteen  years  of  life  seemed  to  be  condensed 
into  one  moment  of  dread.  And  yet  go  on  I  must,  praying 
to  God  to  protect  us  and  let  me  find  father.  I  pushed 
ahead,  with  panic  holding  me  in  its  wild  grip  as  I  pictured  a 
horrible  death  if  we  should  be  captured  by  Indians.  Then 
suddenly  with  wide-strained  eyes  and  fluttering  heart,  I 
forgot  all  weariness  and  fear.  In  the  far  distance  a  dim, 
flickering  light.  Gripping  Milt's  arm,  I  whispered: 

"'Father!' 

"No  sooner  had  I  said  it  than  I  thought,  'Perhaps  it  is  an 
Indian  camp-fire.'  But  common  sense  put  that  aside,  for  I 
was  sure  I  had  seen  father's  horse's  hoofprints,  and  certainly 
they  would  lead  to  him.  But  suppose  he  had  been  captured 
by  Indians,  and  this  fire  we  were  coming  to  should  lead  to 
horrible  disclosures.  All  this  went  through  my  mind,  but  I 
said  nothing  of  it  to  Milton.  I  just  went  walking  steadily  on. 
Oh,  how  far  away  the  light  was!  Would  we  never  reach  it? 
It  seemed  as  if  the  more  we  walked  the  farther  from  it  we 
were.  But  no,  it  was  he — it  was — it  was!  With  a  glad  cry 
14  195 


TEN  AMERICAN  GIRLS  FROM  HISTORY 

of,  'Oh,  father!  father!'  I  rushed  forward  and  flung  myself 
in  his  arms. 

"'My  child,  my  Virginia!'  he  exclaimed,  when  surprise 
had  let  him  find  his  voice.  'You  should  not  have  come 
here!' 

"'But  I  am  here,'  I  cried,  'and  I've  brought  you  some 
food  and  your  gun,  and  a  blanket,  and  a  little  coffee,  and 
some  crackers !  And  here's  a  tin  cup,  too,  and  your  pistols, 
and  some  powder  and  caps.  Oh,  and  here  are  some  matches, 
too!'  I  exclaimed,  holding  out  one  after  another  of 
the  precious  articles  to  his  astonished  gaze,  and  laughing  and 
crying  as  I  talked. 

"  It  was  almost  pitiful  to  see  father's  astonishment  at  the 
thought  that  some  one  had  come  to  help  him  in  his  terrible 
plight,  and  as  he  took  the  things  I  had  brought  he  kissed 
and  fondled  me  like  a  little  child,  and  said  that,  God  helping 
him,  he  would  hurry  on  to  California  and  secure  a  home  for 
his  beloved  family — and  it  seems  conceited  to  mention  it, 
but  he  called  me  his  'brave  daughter'  over  and  over  again, 
until  I  was  glad  of  the  darkness  to  hide  my  burning  cheeks. 
Then  in  the  protecting  darkness,  with  Milton  to  stand 
guard,  we  sat  together  and  talked  of  mother  and  Patty  and 
the  boys,  and  of  what  we  should  do  while  we  were  parted 
from  him.  Father  was  the  first  to  remember  that  dawn 
would  soon  flush  the  east,  and  rising,  he  kissed  me  again 
and  tried  to  say  farewell. 

"'But  I'm  not  going  back!'  I  cried.  'I'm  going  with  you. 
Milt  will  go  back,  but  I  am  going  on  with  you.'  Seeing  his 
stern,  set  face,  I  pleaded,  piteously:  'Oh,  don't  send  me 
back — I  can  never  bear  to  see  those  cruel  men  again.  Let 
me  go  with  you  ?'  He  turned  a  white,  drawn  face  to  mine. 

'"For  mother's  sake,  dear,'  he  said,  'go  back  and  take 
care  of  her.  God  will  care  for  me.'  Before  I  could  cry  out 
or  make  a  move  to  go  with  him,  he  had  gathered  up  the 

196 


VIRGINIA  REED 

articles  I  had  brought  him,  jumped  on  his  horse,  and  ridden 
away  into  the  solitude  of  the  Western  desert.  Milton  and  I 
were  left  alone  to  find  our  way  back  to  the  encampment 
where  mother  was  watching  and  waiting  for  me  with  an 
eager,  aching  heart.  When  my  straining  eyes  had  seen  the 
last  of  that  solitary  figure  riding  off  into  the  black  desert,  I 
turned  abruptly  away,  and  Milt  and  I  crept  back  over  the 
vast  desert.  Before  there  was  a  glimmer  of  dawn  I  was 
safely  clasped  in  mother's  arms,  repeated  my  oomforting 
news  over  and  over  again  that  we  had  found  father,  that  he 
was  well  and  on  his  way  to  that  land  toward  which  our  own 
faces  were  turned." 

In  this  simple,  direct  fashion  has  Virginia  Reed  told  of  a 
heroic  deed  in  the  history  of  brave  pioneer  girls — but  as  the 
story  comes  from  her  pen,  it  is  scarcely  possible  to  realize 
the  anxiety,  the  torturing  fear,  the  hideous  danger  of  such  an 
expedition  as  that  one  of  hers  when  at  midnight,  on  the  great 
plains,  she  set  out  to  find  her  father. 

"After  that,"  she  says,  "though  we  were  obliged  to  travel 
on,  and  though  the  party  tried  to  be  friendly  with  us,  our 
hearts  were  sore  and  our  thoughts  were  centered  on  father, 
journeying  on  alone.  But  as  we  went  on  we  found  welcome 
surprises  by  the  way.  A  note  written  by  him,  stuck  on  a 
forked  twig  by  the  wayside,  feathers  scattered  over  the  path 
to  show  that  he  had  killed  a  bird  and  was  not  hungry. 
When  we  had  found  such  evidence  of  his  being  alive  and 
well,  mother  would  be  light-hearted  for  a  whole  day.  Then 
the  signs  ceased,  and  mother's  despair  was  pitiful  to  see. 
Had  he  been  killed  by  the  Indians  or  perhaps  died  of 
starvation  ?  Patty  and  I  were  afraid  we  would  lose  mother, 
too.  But  starvation  was  menacing  the  whole  party,  and  she 
was  roused  to  new  strength  in  a  desire  to  protect  her  children 
from  that  fate.  And  even  more  ominous  in  their  portent  of 
disaster,  before  us  rose  the  snow-capped  Sierra  Nevada 

197 


TEN  AMERICAN  GIRLS  FROM  HISTORY 

mountains,  which  we  must  cross  before  the  heavy  snows 
fell,  and  the  question  was,  could  we  do  it?,  We  left  our 
wagon  behind,  which  was  too  heavy  for  the  mountain  trip, 
placed  in  it  every  article  we  could  do  without,  packed  what 
we  needed  in  another,  and  struggled  on  as  best  we  could  un 
til  the  1 9th  of  October,  when  we  had  a  great  joy.  As  we  were 
wearily  traveling  along  the  Truckee,  up  rode  Mr.  Stanton 
and  with  him  were  seven  mules  loaded  with  provisions! 
No  angel  from  the  skies  could  have  been  more  welcome,  and, 
hungry  though  we  were,  better  than  food  was  the  news  that 
father  was  alive  and  pushing  on  to  the  west.  Mr.  Stanton 
had  met  him  near  Sutter's  Fort,  and  had  given  him  provi 
sions  and  a  fresh  horse.  Oh,  how  relieved  mother  was!  I 
think  she  could  not  have  eaten  a  mouthful,  hungry  as  she 
was,  without  the  glad  tidings.  Father  had  asked  Mr. 
Stanton  to  personally  conduct  us  across  the  Sierras  before 
snow  came,  which  he  had  promised  to  do,  so  with  new  cour 
age  we  hurried  on,  keeping  a  close  watch  on  those  gaunt 
peaks  ahead  of  us,  which  we  must  climb  before  realizing  our 
dreams.  Although  it  was  so  early  in  the  season,  all  trails 
were  covered  with  snow,  but  we  struggled  on,  mother  riding 
one  mule  with  Tommy  in  her  lap,  Patty  and  Jim  on  another, 
behind  two  Indians  who  had  accompanied  Mr.  Stanton,  and 
I  riding  behind  our  leader.  But  though  we  did  all  in  our 
power  to  travel  fast,  we  were  obliged  to  call  a  halt  before 
we  reached  the  summit,  and  camp  only  three  miles  this  side 
of  the  crest  of  the  mountain  range. 

"That  night,"  says  Virginia,  "came  the  dreaded  snow. 
Around  the  camp-fires  under  the  trees  great  feathery  flakes 
came  whirling  down.  The  air  was  so  full  of  them  that  one 
could  see  objects  only  a  few  feet  away.  The  Indians  knew 
we  were  doomed  and  one  of  them  wrapped  his  blanket 
about  him  and  stood  all  night  under  a  tree.  We  children 
slept  soundly  on  our  cold  bed  of  snow,  which  fell  over  us  so 

198 


VIRGINIA  REED 

thickly  that  every  few  moments  my  mother  would  have  to 
shake  the  shawl — our  only  covering — to  keep  us  from  being 
buried  alive.  In  the  morning  the  snow  lay  deep  on  moun 
tain  and  valley,  and  we  were  forced  to  turn  back  to  a  lake  we 
had  passed,  which  was  afterward  called  'Donner  Lake/ 
where  the  men  hastily  put  up  some  rough  cabins — three  of 
them  known  as  the  Breen  cabin,  the  Murphy  cabin,  and  the 
Reed-Graves  cabin.  Then  the  cattle  were  all  killed,  and  the 
meat  was  placed  in  the  snow  to  preserve  it,  and  we  tried  to 
settle  down  as  comfortably  as  we  could,  until  the  season  of 
snow  and  ice  should  be  over.  But  the  comfort  was  a  poor 
imitation  of  the  real  thing,  and  now  and  then,  in  desperation, 
a  party  started  out  to  try  to  cross  the  mountains,  but  they 
were  always  driven  back  by  the  pitiless  storms.  Finally,  a 
party  of  fifteen,  known  in  later  days  as  the  'Forlorn  Hopes,' 
started  out,  ten  men  and  five  women,  on  snow-shoes,  led  by 
noble  Mr.  Stanton,  and  we  heard  no  more  of  them  until 
months  afterward. 

"No  pen  can  describe  the  dreary  hopelessness  of  those 
who  spent  that  winter  at  Donner  Lake,"  says  Virginia. 
"Our  daily  life  in  that  dark  little  cabin  under  the  snow  would 
fill  pages  and  make  the  coldest  heart  ache.  Only  one 
memory  stands  out  with  any  bright  gleam.  Christmas  was 
near,  and  there  was  no  way  of  making  it  a  happy  time. 
But  my  mother  was  determined  to  give  us  a  treat  on  that 
day.  She  had  hidden  away  a  small  store  of  provisions — a 
few  dried  apples,  some  beans,  a  bit  of  tripe,  and  a  small  piece 
of  bacon.  These  she  brought  out,  and  when  we  saw  the 
treasures  we  shouted  for  joy,  and  watched  the  meal  cooking 
with  hunger-sharpened  eyes.  Mother  smiled  at  out  delight 
and  cautioned: 

"*  Children,  eat  slowly,  for  this  one  day  you  can  have  all 
you  wish!'  and  never  has  any  Christmas  feast  since  driven 
out  of  my  memory  that  most  memorable  one  at  Donner  Lake. 

199 


TEN  AMERICAN  GIRLS  FROM  HISTORY 

"  Somehow  or  other  the  cold  dark  days  and  weeks  passed, 
but  as  they  went  by  our  store  of  supplies  grew  less  and  less, 
and  many  died  from  cold  and  hunger.  Frequently  we  had 
to  cut  chips  from  the  inside  of  our  cabin  to  start  a  fire,  and 
we  were  so  weak  from  want  of  food  that  we  could  scarcely 
drag  ourselves  from  one  cabin  to  the  other,  and  so  four 
dreadful  months  wore  away.  Then  came  a  day  when  a  fact 
stared  us  in  the  face.  We  were  starving.  With  an  almost 
superhuman  strength  mother  roused.  'I  am  going  to  walk 
across  the  mountains,'  she  said;  'I  cannot  see  my  children 
die  for  lack  of  food.'  Quickly  I  stood  beside  her.  'I  will 
go,  too,'  I  said.  Up  rose  Milt  and  Eliza.  'We  will  go 
with  you,  they  said.  Leaving  the  children  to  be  cared  for  by 
the  Breens  and  Murphys,  we  made  a  brave  start.  Milt 
led  the  way  on  snow-shoes  and  we  followed  in  his  tracks,  but 
Eliza  gave  out  on  the  first  day  and  had  to  go  back,  and  after 
five  days  in  the  mountains,  we,  too,  turned  back  and  mother 
was  almost  exhausted,  and  we  went  back  just  in  time,  for 
that  night  there  was  the  most  fearful  storm  of  the  winter, 
and  we  should  have  died  if  we  had  not  had  the  shelter  of  our 
cabins.  My  feet  had  been  badly  frozen,  and  mother  was 
utterly  spent  from  climbing  one  high  mountain  after  another, 
but  we  felt  no  lasting  bad  effects  from  the  venture.  But  we 
had  no  food!  Our  cabins  were  roofed  over  with  hides, 
which  now  we  had  to  take  down  and  boil  for  food.  They 
saved  life,  but  to  eat  them  was  like  eating  a  pot  of  glue,  and 
I  could  not  swallow  them.  The  roof  of  our  cabin  having 
been  taken  off,  the  Breens  gave  us  a  shelter,  and  when  Mrs. 
Breen  discovered  what  I  had  tried  to  hide  from  my  own 
family,  that  I  could  not  eat  the  hide,  she  gave  me  little  bits 
of  meat  now  and  then  from  their  fast-dwindling  store. 

"One  thing  was  my  great  comfort  from  that  time,"  says 
Virginia.  "The  Breens  were  the  only  Catholics  in  the  party, 
and  prayers  were  said  regularly  every  night  and  morning  in 

200 


VIRGINIA  REED 

their  little  cabin,  Mr.  Breen  reading  by  the  light  of  a  small 
pine  torch,  which  I  held,  kneeling  by  his  side.  There  was 
something  inexpressibly  comforting  to  me  in  this  simple 
service,  and  one  night  when  we  had  all  gone  to  bed,  huddled 
together  to  keep  from  freezing,  and  I  felt  it  would  not  be 
long  before  we  would  all  go  to  sleep  never  to  wake  again  in 
this  world,  all  at  once  I  found  myself  on  my  knees,  looking 
up  through  the  darkness  and  making  a  vow  that  if  God 
would  send  us  relief  and  let  me  see  my  father  again,  I  would 
become  a  Catholic.  And  my  prayer  was  answered. 

"On  the  evening  of  February  I9th,  we  were  in  the  cabin, 
weak  and  starving,  when  we  heard  Mr.  Breen's  voice  outside, 
crying : 

"'Relief,  thank  God!     Relief!' 

"  In  a  moment,  before  our  unbelieving  eyes,  stood  seven  men 
sent  by  Captain  Sutter  from  the  fort,  and  they  had  brought 
an  ample  supply  of  flour  and  jerked  beef,  to  save  us  from  the 
death  which  had  already  overtaken  so  many  of  our  party. 
There  was  joy  at  Donner  Lake  that  night,  for  the  men  said: 
'Relief  parties  will  come  and  go  until  you  have  all  crossed 
the  mountains  safely/  But,"  Virginia's  diary  says: 
"mingled  with  one  joy  were  bitter  tears.  Even  strong  men 
sat  and  wept  as  they  saw  the  dead  lying  about  on  the  snow, 
some  even  unburied,  as  the  living  had  not  had  strength  to 
bury  them.  I  sorrowed  most  for  Milt  Elliott — our  faithful 
friend,  who  seemed  so  like  a  brother,  and  when  he  died, 
mother  and  I  dragged  him  out  of  the  cabin  and  covered  him 
with  snow,  and  I  patted  the  pure  white  snow  down  softly 
over  all  but  his  face — and  dragged  myself  away,  with  a  heart 
aching  from  the  pain  of  such  a  loss. 

"  But  we  were  obliged  to  turn  our  thoughts  to  the  living  and 
their  future,  and  eagerly  listened  to  the  story  of  the  men,  who 
told  us  that  when  father  arrived  at  Sutter's  Fort,  after  meet 
ing  Mr.  Stanton,  he  told  Captain  Sutter  of  our  desperate 

20 1 


TEN  AMERICAN  GIRLS   FROM  HISTORY 

plight  and  the  captain  at  once  furnished  horses  and  supplies, 
with  which  father  and  Mr.  McCutchen  started  back,  but 
were  obliged  to  return  to  the  fort,  and  while  they  were  con 
ferring  with  Captain  Sutter  about  their  next  move,  the  seven 
living  members  of  the  'Forlorn  Hope'  party  who  had  left 
us  the  first  part  of  the  winter,  arrived  at  the  fort.  Their 
pale,  worn  faces  told  the  story  and  touched  all  hearts. 
Cattle  were  killed  and  men  were  up  all  night  drying  beef  and 
making  flour  by  hand-mills  for  us;  then  the  party  started 
out  to  our  rescue  and  they  had  not  reached  us  one  moment 
too  soon ! 

"Three  days  later,  the  first  relief  started  from  Donner 
Lake  with  a  party  of  twenty-three  men,  women,  and  children, 
and  our  family  was  among  them.  It  was  a  bright,  sunny 
day  and  we  felt  happy,  but  we  had  not  gone  far  when  Patty 
and  Tommy  gave  out.  As  gently  as  possible  I  told  mother 
that  they  would  have  to  go  back  to  the  lake  and  wait  for  the 
next  expedition.  Mother  insisted  that  she  would  go  back 
with  them,  but  the  relief  party  would  not  allow  this,  and 
finally  she  gave  in  and  let  the  children  go  in  care  of  a  Mr. 
Hover.  Even  the  bravest  of  the  men  had  tears  in  their 
eyes  when  little  Patty  patted  mother's  cheek  and  said, 
'I  want  to  see  papa,  but  I  will  take  good  care  of  Tommy, 
and  I  do  not  want  you  to  come  back.'  Meanwhile  we 
traveled  on,  heavy-hearted,  struggling  through  the  snow 
single  file.  The  men  on  snow-shoes  broke  the  way  and  we 
followed  in  their  tracks.  At  night  we  lay  down  on  the  snow 
to  sleep,  to  awake  to  find  our  clothing  all  frozen.  At  break 
of  day  we  were  on  the  road  again.  .  .  .  The  sunshine,  which 
it  would  seem  would  have  been  welcome,  only  added  to  our 
misery.  The  dazzling  reflection  made  it  very  trying  to  our 
eyes,  while  its  heat  melted  our  frozen  clothing  and  made  it 
cling  to  our  bodies.  Jim  was  too  small  to  step  in  the  tracks 
made  by  the  men,  and  to  walk  at  all  he  had  to  place  his  knee 

202 


VIRGINIA  REED 

on  the  little  hill  of  snow  after  each  step,  and  climb  over  it. 
Mother  and  I  coaxed  him  along  by  telling  him  that  every 
step  he  took  he  was  getting  nearer  papa  and  nearer  something 
to  eat.  He  was  the  youngest  child  that  walked  over  the 
Sierra  Nevada. 

"On  their  way  to  our  rescue  the  relief  party  from  Sutter's 
Fort  had  left  meat  hanging  on  a  tree  for  our  use  as  we  came 
out.  What  was  their  horror  when  we  reached  the  spot  to 
find  that  it  had  been  taken  by  wild  animals.  We  were 
starving  again — where  could  we  get  food  ?  As  we  were  try 
ing  to  decide  on  our  next  move,  one  of  the  men  who  was  in 
the  lead  ahead  stopped,  turned,  and  called  out: 

"'Is  Mrs.  Reed  with  you?  If  she  is,  tell  her  Mr.  Reed  is 
here!'  There  before  us  stood  father!  At  the  sight,  mother, 
weak  with  joy,  fell  on  her  knees  with  outstretched  arms, 
while  I  tried  to  run  to  meet  him,  but  found  myself  too  much 
exhausted,  so  I  just  held  out  my  arms,  too,  and  waited! 
In  a  moment  he  was  where  we  could  touch  him  and  know 
that  he  was  flesh  and  blood  and  not  just  a  beautiful  dream. 
He  had  planned  to  meet  us  just  where  we  were,  and  had 
brought  with  him  fourteen  men  and  a  generous  supply  of 
bread. 

"  As  he  knelt  and  clasped  mother  in  his  arms  she  told  him 
that  Patty  and  Tommy  were  still  at  the  lake,  and  with  a 
horrified  exclamation,  he  started  to  his  feet.  'I  must  go  for 
them  at  once,'  he  said.  'There  is  no  time  to  lose.'  With 
one  long  embrace  off  he  went  as  if  on  winged  feet,  traveling 
the  distance  which  had  taken  us  five  days  to  go  in  two,  we 
afterward  heard.  He  found  the  children  alive,  to  his  great 
joy,  but,  oh,  what  a  sight  met  his  gaze!  The  famished  little 
children  and  the  death-like  look  of  all  at  the  lake  made  his 
heart  ache.  He  filled  Patty's  apron  with  biscuits,  which  she 
carried  around,  giving  one  to  each  person.  He  also  had  soup 
made  for  the  infirm,  and  rendered  every'possible  assistance  to 

203 


TEN  AMERICAN  GIRLS   FROM  HISTORY 

the  sufferers,  then,  leaving  them  with  provisions  for  seven 
days,  he  started  off,  taking  with  him  seventeen  who  were 
able  to  travel,  and  leaving  at  the  lake  three  of  his  men  to  aid 
those  who  were  too  weak  to  walk. 

"Almost  as  soon  as  father's  party  started  out,  they  were 
caught  in  a  terrible  snow-storm  and  hurricane,  and  his 
description  of  the  scene  later  was  heart-breaking,  as  he  told 
about  the  crying  of  the  half-frozen  children,  the  lamenting 
of  the  mothers  and  suffering  of  the  whole  party,  while  above 
all  could  be  heard  the  shrieking  of  the  storm  king.  One  who 
has  never  seen  a  blizzard  in  the  Sierras  can  have  no  idea  of 
the  situation,  but  we  knew.  All  night  father  and  his  men 
worked  in  the  raging  storm,  trying  to  put  up  shelters  for  the 
dying  women  and  children,  while  at  times  the  hurricane 
would  burst  forth  with  such  fury  that  he  felt  frightened  on 
account  of  the  tall  timber  surrounding  the  camp.  The 
party  was  almost  without  food,  having  left  so  much  with  the 
sufferers  at  the  lake.  Father  had  cached  provisions  on  his 
way  to  the  lake,  and  had  sent  three  men  forward  to  get  it 
before  the  storm  set  in,  but  they  could  not  get  back.  At  one 
time  the  fire  was  nearly  gone;  had  it  been  lost,  all  would 
have  perished.  For  three  days  and  three  nights  they  were 
exposed  to  the  fury  of  that  terrible  storm;  then  father 
became  snow-blind,  and  would  have  died  if  two  of  his  faithful 
comrades  had  not  worked  over  him  all  night,  but  from  that 
time  all  responsibility  of  the  relief  work  was  taken  from  him, 
as  he  was  physically  unfit. 

"At  last  the  storm  abated,  and  the  party  halted,  while 
father  with  Mr.  McCutchen  and  Mr.  Miller  went  on  ahead 
to  send  back  aid  for  those  who  were  exhausted  from  the 
terrible  journeying.  Hiram  Miller  carried  Tommy,  while 
Patty  started  bravely  to  walk,  but  soon  she  sank  on  the  snow 
and  seemed  to  be  dying.  All  gathered  around  in  frantic 
efforts  to  revive  the  child,  and  luckily  father  found  some 

204 


VIRGINIA  REED 

crumbs  in  the  thumb  of  his  woolen  mitten  which  he  warmed 
and  moistened  between  his  own  lips,  and  fed  Patty.  Slowly 
she  came  to  life  again,  and  was  carried  along  by  different 
ones  in  the  company,  so  that  by  the  time  the  party  reached 
Woodworth's  Camp  she  was  quite  herself  again,  and  as  she 
sat  cozily  before  a  big  camp-fire  she  fondled  and  talked  to  a 
tiny  doll  which  had  traveled  with  her  all  the  way  from 
Springfield  and  which  was  her  chosen  confidante. 

"  As  soon  as  father's  party  reached  Woodworth's  Camp  a 
third  relief  party  started  back  to  help  those  who  were  slowly 
following,  and  still  another  party  went  on  to  Donner  Lake 
to  the  relief  of  those  who  were  still  living.  But  many  of 
that  emigrant  band  lie  sleeping  to-day  on  the  shore  of  that 
quiet  mountain  lake,  for  out  of  the  eighty-three  persons  who 
were  snowed  in  there,  forty-two  died,  and  of  the  thirty-one 
emigrants  who  left  Springfield  on  that  lovely  April  morning 
of  1846,  only  eighteen  lived  to  reach  California.  Among 
them  were  our  family,  who,  despite  the  terrible  hardships 
and  hideous  privations  we  had  suffered,  yet  seemed  to  have 
been  especially  watched  over  by  a  kind  Providence,  for  we  all 
lived  to  reach  our  goal,  and  were  the  only  family  who  were 
not  obliged  at  some  part  of  the  journey  to  subsist  on  human 
flesh  to  keep  from  perishing.  God  was  good  to  our  famly, 
and  I,  Virginia,  testify  to  the  heroic  qualities  which  were 
developed  in  even  the  youngest  of  us,  and  for  my  own  part,  I 
gratefully  recognize  the  blessings  which  came  to  me  from  an 
unqualified  faith  in  God  and  an  unfaltering  trust  that  He 
would  take  care  of  us — which  He  did. 

"  Mother,  Jimmy  and  I  reached  California  and  were  taken 
at  once  to  the  home  of  the  mayor,  Mr.  Sinclair,  where  we 
were  given  a  warm  welcome  and  where  nothing  was  left 
undone  for  our  comfort.  But  we  were  still  too  anxious  to  be 
happy,  for  we  knew  that  father's  party  had  been  caught  in 
the  storm."  Virginia  says:  "I  can  see  mother  now  as  she 

205 


TEN  AMERICAN  GIRLS  FROM  HISTORY 

stood  leaning  against  the  door  for  hours  at  a  time,  looking 
at  the  mountains.  At  last — oh  wonderful  day — they  came, 
father,  Patty  and  Tommy!  In  the  moment  of  blissful 
reunion  tears  and  smiles  intermingled  and  all  the  bitterness 
and  losses  and  sorrows  of  the  cruel  journey  were  washed 
away,  leaving  only  a  tender  memory  of  those  noble  souls 
who  had  fared  forth,  not  to  the  land  of  their  dreams,  but  to  a 
far  country  whose  maker  and  builder  is  God. 
"And  for  us,  it  was  spring  in  California!" 


LOUISA  M.  ALCOTT:  AUTHOR   OF 
"LITTLE  WOMEN" 

IN  a  pleasant,  shady  garden  in  Concord,  Massachusetts, 
under  a  gnarled  old  apple-tree,  sat  a  very  studious  looking 
little  person,  bending  over  a  sheet  of  paper  on  which  she  was 
writing.  She  had  made  a  seat  out  of  a  tree  stump,  and  a 
table  by  laying  a  board  across  two  carpenter's  horses,  whose 
owner  was  working  in  the  house,  and  no  scholar  writing  a 
treatise  on  some  deep  subject  could  have  been  more  absorbed 
in  his  work  than  was  the  little  girl  in  the  garden. 

For  a  whole  long  hour  she  wrote,  frequently  stopping  to 
look  off  into  the  distance  and  bite  the  end  of  her  pencil  with  a 
very  learned  look,  then  she  would  bend  over  her  paper  again 
and  write  hard  and  fast.  Finally,  she  laid  down  her  pencil 
with  an  air  of  triumph,  jumped  up  from  the  stump  and 
rushed  toward  the  house. 

"Mother!  Anna!  I've  written  a  poem  about  the  robin 
we  found  this  morning  in  the  garden!"  Dashing  into  the 
library  she  waved  the  paper  in  the  air  with  a  still  more 
excited  cry:  "Listen!"  and  dropped  on  the  floor  to  read 
her  poem  to  a  much  thrilled  audience  of  two.  With  great 
dramatic  effect  she  read  her  lines,  glancing  up  from  time  to 
time  to  see  that  she  was  producing  the  proper  effect.  This 
is  what  she  read : 

TO  THE  FIRST  ROBIN 

Welcome,  welcome,  little  stranger, 
Fear  no  harm  and  fear  no  danger, 
We  are  glad  to  see  you  here, 
For  you  sing  "Sweet  Spring  is  near." 
207 


TEN  AMERICAN  GIRLS  FROM  HISTORY 

Now  the  white  snow  melts  away, 
Now  the  flowers  blossom  gay, 
Come,  dear  bird,  and  build  your  nest, 
For  we  love  our  robin  best. 

She  finished  with  an  upward  tilt  of  her  voice,  while  her 
mother  excitedly  flourished  the  stocking  she  was  darning 
over  her  head,  crying:  "Good!  Splendid!"  and  quiet  Anna 
echoed  the  words,  looking  with  awe  at  her  small  sister,  as  she 
added,  "It's  just  like  Shakespeare!" 

The  proud  mother  did  not  say  much  more  in  praise  of  the 
budding  poetesses's  effort,  for  fear  of  making  her  conceited; 
but  that  night,  after  the  verses  had  been  read  to  a  delighted 
father,  and  the  young  author  had  gone  happily  off  to  bed, 
the  mother  said: 

"I  do  believe  she  is  going  to  be  a  genius,  Bronson!" 

Yet,  despite  the  prediction,  even  an  appreciative  parent 
would  have  been  more  than  surprised  had  she  been  able  to 
look  into  the  future  and  had  seen  her  daughter  as  one  of  the 
most  famous  writer  of  books  for  young  people  of  her  genera 
tion.  The  little  girl  who  sat  under  the  apple-tree  on  that  day 
in  early  spring  and  wrote  the  verses  was  no  other  than  Louisa 
May  Alcott,  and  her  tribute  to  the  robin  was  to  be  treasured 
in  after  years  as  the  first  evidence  of  its  writer's  talent. 

Louisa,  the  second  daughter  of  Amos  Bronson  and  Abba 
May  Alcott,  was  born  in  Germantown,  Pa.,  on  the  2Qth  of 
November,  1832,  and  was  fortunate  in  being  the  child  of 
parents  who  not  only  understood  the  intense,  restless  and 
emotional  nature  of  this  daughter,  but  were  deeply  interested 
in  developing  it  in  such  a  way  that  her  marked  traits  would 
be  valuable  to  her  in  later  life.  To  this  unfailing  sympathy 
of  both  father  and  mother  the  turbulent  nature  owed  much 
of  its  rich  achievement,  and  Louisa  Alcott's  home  sur 
roundings  and  influences  had  as  much  to  do  with  her  success 
as  a  writer  as  had  her  talent,  great  as  that  was. 

208 


LOUISA  M.  ALCOTT 

At  the  time  of  her  birth  her  father  was  teaching  school  in 
Germantown,  but  he  was  a  man  whose  ideas  were  original 
and  far  in  advance  of  his  time,  and  his  way  of  teaching  was 
not  liked  by  the  parents  of  his  pupils,  so  when  Louisa  was 
two  years  old  and  her  older  sister,  Anna,  four,  the  family 
went  to  Boston,  where  Mr.  Alcott  opened  his  famous  school 
in  Masonic  Temple,  and  enjoyed  teaching  by  his  own  new 
methods,  and  when  he  was  happy  his  devoted  wife  was 
equally  contented. 

Louisa  was  too  young  to  go  to  school  then,  except  as  a 
visitor,  but  her  father  developed  her  young  mind  at  home 
according  to  his  own  theories  of  education,  and  during  the 
remainder  of  the  ail-too  short  days  the  active  child  was  free 
to  amuse  herself  as  she  chose.  To  play  on  the  Common  was 
her  great  delight,  for  she  was  a  born  investigator,  and  there 
she  met  children  of  all  classes,  who  appealed  to  her  many- 
sided  nature  in  different  ways.  Louisa  was  never  a  respecter 
of  class  distinctions — it  did  not  matter  to  her  where  people 
lived,  or  whether  their  hands  and  faces  were  dirty,  if  some 
personal  characteristic  attracted  her  to  them,  and  from  those 
early  days  she  was  unconsciously  studying  human  nature, 
and  making  ready  for  the  work  of  later  years. 

In  her  own  sketch  of  those  early  days,  she  says: 

"Running  away  was  one  of  my  great  delights,  and  I  still 
enjoy  sudden  flights  out  of  the  nest  to  look  about  this  very 
interesting  world  and  then  go  back  to  report!" 

On  one  of  her  investigating  tours,  she  met  some  Irish 
children  whose  friendliness  delighted  her,  and  she  spent  a 
wonderful  day  with  them,  sharing  their  dinner  of  cold  pota 
toes,  salt  fish  and  bread  crusts.  Then — delightful  pastime — 
they  all  played  in  the  ash-heaps  for  some  time,  and  took  a 
trip  to  the  Common  together.  But  when  twilight  came,  her 
new  friends  deserted  her,  leaving  her  a  long  way  from  home, 
and  little  Louisa  began  to  think  very  longingly  of  her  mother 

209 


TEN  AMERICAN  GIRLS   FROM  HISTORY 

and  sister.  But  as  she  did  not  know  how  to  find  her  way 
back  she  sat  down  on  a  doorstep,  where  a  big  dog  was  lying. 
He  was  so  friendly  that  she  cuddled  up  against  his  broad 
back  and  fell  asleep.  How  long  she  slept  she  did  not  know, 
but  she  was  awakened  by  the  loud  ringing  of  a  bell,  and  a 
man's  deep  voice  calling: 

"Little  girl  lost!  Six  years  old — in  a  pink  frock,  white  hat 
and  new  green  shoes.  Little  girl  lost!  Little  girl  lost !" 

It  was  the  town  crier,  and  as  he  rang  his  bell  and  gave  his 
loud  cry,  out  of  the  darkness  he  heard  a  small  voice  exclaim: 

"Why,  dat's  me!" 

With  great  difficulty  the  crier  was  able  to  pursuade  the 
child  to  unclasp  her  arms  from  the  neck  of  the  big  friendly 
dog,  but  at  last  she  left  him,  and  was  taken  to  the  crier's 
home  and  "feasted  sumptuously  on  bread  and  molasses  in  a 
tin  plate  with  the  alphabet  round  it,"  while  her  frantic 
family  was  being  notified.  The  unhappy  ending  to  that 
incident  is  very  tersely  told  by  Louisa,  who  says:  "My  fun 
ended  the  next  day,  when  I  was  tied  to  the  arm  of  the  sofa  to 
repent  at  leisure!" 

That  the  six  years  spent  in  Boston  were  happy  ones,  and 
that  the  budding  spirit  of  Louisa  was  filled  with  joy  at  merely 
being  alive,  was  shown  one  morning,  when,  at  the  breakfast 
table,  she  suddenly  looked  up  with  an  all-embrasive  smile 
and  exclaimed : 

"I  love  everybody  in  dis  whole  world!" 

Despite  the  merriment  which  was  always  a  feature  of  the 
Alcott  home,  as  they  were  all  blessed  with  a  sense  of  humor 
which  helped  them  over  many  a  hard  place,  there  was  an 
underlying  anxiety  for  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Alcott,  as  the  school 
was  gradually  growing  smaller  and  there  was  barely  enough 
income  to  support  their  family,  to  which  a  third  daughter, 
Elizabeth,  the  "Beth "of  Little  Women,  had  been  added 
recently.  During  those  days  they  lived  on  very  simple 

210 


LOUISA  M.  ALCOTT 

fare,  which  the  children  disliked,  as  their  rice  had  to  be  eaten 
without  sugar  and  their  mush  without  butter  or  molasses. 
Nor  did  Mr.  Alcott  allow  meat  on  his  table,  as  he  thought  it 
wrong  to  eat  any  creature  which  had  to  be  killed  for  the 
purpose.  An  old  family  friend  who  lived  at  a  Boston  hotel 
sympathized  strongly  with  the  children's  longing  for  sweets, 
and  every  day  at  dinner  she  saved  them  a  piece  of  pie  or  cake, 
which  Louisa  would  call  for,  carrying  a  bandbox  for  the 
purpose.  The  friend  was  in  Europe  for  years,  and  when  she 
returned  Louisa  Alcott  had  become  famous.  Meeting  her 
on  the  street  one  day,  Louisa  greeted  her  old  friend,  eagerly: 

"Why,  I  did  not  think  you  would  remember  me!"  said  the 
old  lady. 

"Do  you  suppose  I  shall  ever  forget  that  bandbox!"  was 
the  quick  reply. 

As  time  went  on,  Mr.  Alcott's  school  dwindled  until  he 
had  only  five  scholars,  and  three  of  them  were  his  own  chil 
dren.  Something  new  had  to  be  tried,  and  quickly,  so  the 
family  moved  out  of  the  city,  into  a  small  house  at  Concord, 
Mass.,  which  had  an  orchard  and  a  garden,  and,  best  of  all, 
the  children  had  a  big  barn,  where  they  gave  all  sorts  of  enter 
tainments;  mostly  plays,  as  they  were  born  actors.  Their 
mother,  or  "Marmee,"  as  the  girls  called  her,  loved  the  fun 
as  well  as  they  did,  and  would  lay  aside  her  work  at  any 
moment  to  make  impossible  costumes  for  fairies,  gnomes, 
kings  or  peasants,  who  were  to  take  the  principal  parts  in 
some  stirring  melodrama  written  by  the  girls  themselves,  or 
some  adaptation  of  an  old  fairy  tale.  They  acted  Jack  the 
Giant-killer  in  fine  style,  and  the  giant  came  tumbling 
headlong  from  a  loft  when  Jack  cut  down  the  squash-vine 
running  up  a  ladder  and  supposed  to  represent  the  immortal 
beanstalk.  At  other  performances  Cinderella  rolled  away  in 
an  impressive  pumpkin,  and  one  of  their  star  plays  was  a 
dramatic  version  of  the  story  of  the  woman  who  wasted  her 
15  211 


TEN  AMERICAN  GIRLS   FROM  HISTORY 

three  wishes,  in  which  a  long  black  pudding  was  lowered  by 
invisible  hands  and  slowly  fastened  onto  her  nose. 

But  though  the  big  barn  often  echoed  with  the  sound  of 
merry  voices,  at  other  times  the  girls  dressed  up  as  pilgrims, 
and  journeyed  over  the  hill  with  scrip  and  staff,  and  cockle 
shells  in  their  hats;  fairies  held  their  revels  among  the  whis 
pering  birches,  and  strawberry  parties  took  place  in  the  rus 
tic  arbor  of  the  garden. 

And  there  we  find  eight-year-old  Louisa  writing  her  verses 
to  the  robin,  with  genius  early  beginning  to  burn  in  the 
small  head  which  later  proved  to  be  so  full  of  wonderful 
material  for  the  delight  of  young  people. 

"Those  Concord  days  were  the  happiest  of  my  life/'  says 
Miss  Alcott.  "We  had  charming  playmates  in  the  little 
Emersons,  Channings,  Goodwins  and  Hawthornes,  with  the 
illustrious  parents  and  their  friends  to  enjoy  our  pranks  and 
share  our  excursions.  .  .  .  My  wise  mother,  anxious  to  give 
me  a  strong  body  to  support  a  lively  brain,  turned  me  loose 
in  the  country  and  let  me  run  wild,  learning  of  Nature  what 
no  books  can  teach,  and  being  led — as  those  who  truly  love 
her  seldom  fail  to  be — 'through  Nature  up  to  Nature's 
God/ ' 

The  Alcott  children  were  encouraged  to  keep  diaries  in 
which  they  wrote  down  their  thoughts  and  feelings  and 
fancies,  and  even  at  that  early  age  Louisa's  journal  was  a 
record  of  deep  feelings  and  of  a  child's  sacred  emotions.  In 
one  of  her  solemn  moods,  she  makes  this  entry: 

"I  had  an  early  run  in  the  woods  before  the  dew  was  off 
the  grass.  The  moss  was  like  velvet,  and  as  I  ran  under 
the  arch  of  yellow  and  red  leaves  I  sang  for  joy,  my  heart 
was  so  bright  and  the  world  so  beautiful.  I  stopped  at  the 
end  of  the  walk  and  saw  the  sunshine  out  over  the  wide 
'Virginia  meadows.' 

"It  seemed  like  going  through  a  dark  life  or  grave  into 

212 


LOUISA  M.  ALCOTT 

heaven  beyond.  A  very  strange  and  solemn  feeling  came 
over  me  as  I  stood  there,  with  no  sound  but  the  rustle  of  the 
pines,  no  one  near  me,  and  the  sun  so  glorious,  as  for  me 
alone.  It  seemed  as  if  I  felt  God  as  I  never  did  before,  and  I 
prayed  in  my  heart  that  I  might  keep  that  happy  sense  of 
nearness  all  my  life." 

To  that  entry  there  is  a  note  added,  years  later:  "I  havey 
for  I  most  sincerely  think  that  the  little  girl  'got  religion* 
that  day  in  the  wood,  when  dear  Mother  Nature  led  her  to 
God."— L.  M.  A.  1885. 

That  deep  religious  note  in  Louisa  Alcott's  nature  is  very 
marked  and  is  evident  in  all  of  her  work,  but,  on  the  other 
hand,  she  had  a  sparkling  wit  and  such  a  keen  sense  of 
humor  that  in  her  blackest  moods  she  could  always  see 
something  funny  to  amuse  her,  and  frequently  laughed  at 
her  own  expense. 

That  her  conscience  was  as  active  as  her  mind  and  her 
body  is  shown  by  one  of  her  "private  plays,"  which  she 
makes  Demi  describe  in  Little  Men.  He  says: 

"I  play  that  my  mind  is  a  round  room,  and  my  soul  is  a 
little  sort  of  creature  with  wings  that  lives  in  it.  The  walls 
are  full  of  shelves  and  drawers,  and  in  them  I  keep  my 
thoughts,  and  my  goodness  and  badness  and  all  sorts  of 
things.  The  goods  I  keep  where  I  can  see  them,  and  the 
bads  I  lock  up  tight,  but  they  get  out,  and  I  have  to  keep 
putting  them  in  and  squeezing  them  down,  they  are  so 
strong.  The  thoughts  I  play  with  when  I  am  alone  or  in  bed, 
and  I  make  up  and  do  what  I  like  with  them.  Every  Sunday 
I  put  my  room  in  order,  and  talk  with  the  little  spirit  that 
lives  there,  and  tell  him  what  to  do.  He  is  very  bad  some 
times  and  won't  mind  me,  and  I  have  to  scold  him." 

Truly  a  strange  game  for  a  child  to  play,  but  the  Alcotts 
were  brought  up  to  a  reverent  knowledge  of  their  souls  as 
well  as  their  bodies,  and  many  a  sober  talk  at  twilight  did 

213 


TEN  AMERICAN  GIRLS   FROM  HISTORY 

mother  or  father  have  with  the  daughters  to  whom  the 
experience  of  the  older  generation  was  helpful  and  inspiring. 
A  very  happy  family  they  were,  despite  frequent  lack  of 
luxuries  and  even  necessities,  but  loyalty  and  generosity  as 
their  marked  characteristics.  No  matter  how  little  money 
or  food  an  Alcott  had,  it  was  always  shared  with  any  one  who 
had  less,  and  the  largest  share  was  usually  given  away. 

On  Louisa's  fourth  birthday,  she  tells  of  a  feast  given  in 
her  honor  in  her  father's  school-room  in  Masonic  Temple. 
All  the  children  were  there,  and  Louisa  wore  a  crown  of  flowers 
and  stood  upon  a  table  to  give  a  cake  to  each  child  as  they 
all  marched  around  the  table.  "By  some  oversight,"  says 
Louisa,  "the  cakes  fell  short,  and  I  saw  that  if  I  gave  away 
the  last  one,  /  should  have  none.  As  I  was  queen  of  the 
revel,  I  felt  that  I  ought  to  have  it,  and  held  on  to  it  tightly, 
until  my  mother  said :  'It  is  always  better  to  give  away  than 
to  keep  the  nice  things;  so  I  know  my  Louy  will  not  let  the 
little  friend  go  without."  She  adds:  "The  little  friend 
received  the  dear  plummy  cake,  and  I  ...  my  first  lesson 
in  the  sweetness  of  self-denial — a  lesson  which  my  dear 
mother  illustrated  all  her  long  and  noble  life." 

At  another  time  a  starving  family  was  discovered,  when 
the  Alcotts,  forming  in  a  procession,  carried  their  own  break 
fast  to  the  hungry  ones.  On  one  occasion,  when  a  friend 
had  unexpected  guests  arrive  for  dinner,  too  late  to  secure  any 
extra  provisions,  the  Alcotts  with  great  glee  lent  their  dinner 
to  the  thankful  hostess,  and  thought  it  a  good  joke.  Again, 
on  a  snowy  Saturday  night,  when  their  wood-pile  was  extra 
low,  and  there  was  no  way  of  getting  any  more  that  week,  a 
poor  child  came  to  beg  a  little,  as  their  baby  was  sick  and 
the  father  on  a  spree  with  all  his  wages.  At  first  Mrs. 
Alcott  hesitated,  as  it  was  bitterly  cold  and  Abba  May,  the 
little  baby  sister,  was  very  young,  but  Mr.  Alcott  decided 
the  matter  with  his  usual  kindly  optimism. 

214 


LOUISA  M.  ALCOTT 

"Give  half  our  stock  and  trust  in  Providence;  the  weather 
will  moderate  or  wood  will  come,"  he  declared.  And  the 
wood  was  lent,  Mrs.  Alcott  cheerily  agreeing:  "Well,  their 
need  is  greater  than  ours.  If  our  half  gives  out  we  can  go  to 
bed  and  tell  stories!" 

A  little  later  in  the  evening,  while  it  was  still  snowing 
heavily,  and  the  Alcotts  were  about  to  cover  their  fire  to 
keep  it,  a  farmer  who  was  in  the  habit  of  supplying  them 
with  wood  knocked  at  the  door  and  asked  anxiously: 

"Wouldn't  you  like  me  to  drop  my  load  of  wood  here? 
It  would  accommodate  me,  and  you  need  not  hurry  to  pay 
for  it.  I  started  for  Boston  with  it  but  the  snow  is  drifting 
so  fast,  I  want  to  go  home." 

"Yes,"  answered  Mr.  Alcott,  and  as  the  man  went  away, 
he  turned  to  his  wife  and  exclaimed:  "Didn't  I  tell  you  that 
wood  would  come  if  the  weather  didn't  moderate?" 

Again,  a  tramp  asked  Mr.  Alcott  to  lend  him  five  dollars. 
As  he  had  only  a  ten-dollar  bill,  the  dear  man  at  once  offered 
that,  asking  to  have  the  change  brought  back  as  soon  as 
possible.  Despite  the  disbelief  of  his  family  in  the  tramp's 
honesty,  the  man  did  bring  the  five-dollar  bill  soon  with 
profuse  thanks,  and  the  gentle  philosopher's  faith  in  human 
nature  was  not  crushed. 

Still  another  experiment  in  generosity  proved  a  harder 
one  in  its  results  to  the  Alcotts,  when  Mrs.  Alcott  allowed 
some  poor  emigrants  to  rest  in  her  garden  while  she  treated 
them  to  a  bountiful  meal.  Unfortunately  for  their  generous 
benefactor,  in  return  they  gave  small-pox  to  the  entire 
family,  and,  although  the  girls  had  light  cases,  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Alcott  were  very  sick  and,  as  Miss  Alcott  records  later: 
"We  had  a  curious  time  of  exile,  danger  and  trouble."  She 
adds:  "No  doctors  and  all  got  well." 

When  Louisa  Alcott  was  almost  ten  years  old,  and  Anna 
twelve,  Mr.  Alcott  took  a  trip  to  England,  hoping  to  interest 

215 


TEN  AMERICAN  GIRLS  FROM  HISTORY 

the  people  there  in  his  new  theories  of  education  and  of 
living.  So  enthusiastically  and  beautifully  did  he  present 
his  theories  that  he  won  many  converts,  and  one  of  them,  a 
Mr.  Lane,  returned  to  America  with  him  to  help  him  found  a 
colony  on  the  new  ideas,  which  were  more  ideal  than  prac 
tical,  and  so  disapproved  of  by  Mr.  Alcott's  friends,  who 
thought  him  foolish  to  waste  time  and  money  on  them. 

However,  after  months  of  planning,  Mr.  Alcott,  Mr. 
Lane  and  other  enthusiasts  decided  to  buy  an  estate  of  one 
hundred  acres  near  Harvard  Village,  Mass.,  and  establish 
the  colony.  The  place  was  named  "  Fruitlands, "  in  anticipa 
tion  of  future  crops,  and  the  men  who  were  to  start  the  com 
munity  were  full  of  hope  and  enthusiasm,  in  which  Mrs. 
Alcott  did  not  share,  as  she  knew  her  husband's  visionary 
nature  too  well  not  to  fear  the  result  of  such  an  experiment. 
However,  she  aided  in  making  the  plan  as  practical  as  she 
could,  and  drew  such  a  rosy  picture  of  their  new  home  to  the 
children  that  they  expected  life  at  Fruitlands  to  be  a  per 
petual  picnic. 

Alas  for  visions  and  for  hopes!  Although  life  at  Fruit- 
lands  had  its  moments  of  sunshine  and  happiness,  yet  they 
were  far  overbalanced  by  hard  work,  small  results  and  in 
creasing  worry  over  money  matters,  and  at  last,  after  four 
years  of  struggle  to  make  ends  meet,  Mr.  Alcott  was  obliged 
to  face  the  fact  that  the  experiment  had  been  an  utter  failure, 
that  he  had  exhausted  his  resources  of  mind,  body  and 
estate.  It  was  a  black  time  for  the  gentle  dreamer,  and  for  a 
while  it  seemed  as  if  despair  would  overwhelm  him.  But 
with  his  brave  wife  to  help  him  and  the  children's  welfare 
to  think  of,  he  shook  off  his  despondency  bravely,  and  de 
cided  to  make  a  fresh  start.  So  Mrs.  Alcott  wrote  to  her 
brother  in  Boston  for  help,  sold  all  the  furniture  they  could 
spare,  and  went  to  Still  River,  the  nearest  village  to  Fruit- 
lands,  and  engaged  four  rooms.  "Then  on  a  bleak  December 

216 


LOUISA  M.  ALCOTT 

day  the  Alcott  family  emerged  from  the  snowbank  in  which 
Fruitlands,  now  re-christened  Apple  Stump  by  Mrs.  Alcott, 
lay  hidden.  Their  worldly  goods  were  piled  on  an  ox-sled, 
the  four  girls  on  the  top,  while  father  and  mother  trudged 
arm  in  arm  behind,  poorer  indeed  in  worldly  goods,  but 
richer  in  love  and  faith  and  patience,  and  alas,  experience." 

After  a  winter  in  Still  River  they  went  back  to  Concord, 
where  they  occupied  a  few  rooms  in  the  house  of  a  sympa 
thetic  friend — not  all  their  friends  were  sympathetic,  by  any 
means,  as  most  of  them  had  warned  Mr.  Alcott  of  this  ending 
to  his  experiment.  But  all  were  kindly  as  they  saw  the 
family  take  up  life  bravely  in  Concord  again,  with  even  fewer 
necessities  and  comforts  than  before.  Both  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Alcott  did  whatever  work  they  could  find  to  do,  thinking 
nothing  too  menial  if  it  provided  food  and  clothing  for  their 
family.  Naturally  the  education  of  the  children  was 
rather  fragmentary  and  insufficient,  but  it  developed  their 
own  powers  of  thinking.  Through  the  pages  of  their  diaries 
in  which  they  wrote  regularly,  and  which  were  open  to  their 
mother  and  father,  they  learned  to  express  their  thoughts 
clearly  on  all  subjects.  Also  they  were  encouraged  to  read 
freely,  while  only  the  best  books  were  within  their  reach. 
Louisa's  poetic  and  dramatic  efforts  were  not  ridiculed,  but 
criticized  as  carefully  as  if  they  had  been  masterpieces,  so 
she  had  no  fear  of  expressing  her  deepest  thoughts,  but  acted 
out  her  own  nature  freely  and  fearlessly. 

In  fact  the  four  daughters  were  happy,  wholesome,  hearty 
girls,  whose  frolics  and  pastimes  took  such  unique  forms  that 
people  wondered  whether  they  were  the  result  of  Mr.  Al- 
cott's  theories,  and  Miss  Alcott  tells  of  one  afternoon  when 
Mr.  Emerson  and  Margaret  Fuller  were  visiting  her  mother 
and  the  conversation  drifted  to  the  subject  of  education. 
Turning  to  Mr.  Alcott,  Miss  Fuller  said : 

"Well,  Mr.  Alcott,  you  have  been  able  to  carry  out  your 

217 


TEN  AMERICAN  GIRLS   FROM  HISTORY 

methods  in  your  own  family;  I  should  like  to  see  your  model 
children." 

A  few  moments  later,  as  the  guests  stood  on  the  door 
step,  ready  to  leave,  there  was  a  wild  uproar  heard  in  the 
near  distance  and  round  the  corner  of  the  house  came  a 
wheel-barrow  holding  baby  May,  dressed  as  a  queen;  Miss 
Alcott  says:  "I  was  the  horse,  bitted  and  bridled,  and 
driven  by  my  sister  Anna,  while  Lizzie  played  dog  and 
barked  as  loud  as  her  gentle  voice  permitted. 

"All  were  shouting  and  wild  with  fun,  which,  how 
ever,  came  to  a  sudden  end,  for  my  foot  tripped  and 
down  we  all  went  in  a  laughing  heap,  while  my  mother 
put  a  climax  to  the  joke  by  saying  with  a  dramatic  wave 
of  the  hand: 

"Here  are  the  model  children,  Miss  Fuller!" 

When  Mrs.  Alcott's  father,  Colonel  May,  died,  he  left  his 
daughter  a  small  property,  and  she  now  determined  to  buy  a 
house  in  Concord  with  it,  so  that  whatever  the  varying 
fortunes  of  the  family  might  be  in  future  they  would  at  least 
have  a  roof  over  their  heads.  An  additional  amount  of  five 
hundred  dollars  was  added  by  Mr.  Emerson,  who  was  al 
ways  the  good  angel  of  the  family,  and  the  place  in  Concord 
known  as  "Hillside"  was  bought,  where  life  and  work  began 
in  earnest  for  Louisa  and  her  sisters,  for  only  too  clearly 
they  saw  the  heavy  weight  that  was  being  laid  on  their 
mother's  shoulders. 

Louisa  was  growing  in  body  and  spirit  in  those  days, 
stretching  up  physically  and  mentally,  and  among  the  sources 
of  her  finest  inspiration  was  the  gentle  reformer,  philosopher 
and  writer,  Ralph  Waldo  Emerson,  who  was  ever  her  father's 
loyal  friend  and  helper.  Louisa's  warm  little  heart  enshrined 
the  calm,  great-minded  man  who  always  understood  things, 
and  after  she  had  read  Goethe's  correspondence  with  Bet- 
tine,  she,  like  Bettine,  placed  her  idol  on  a  pedestal  and  wor- 

218 


LOUISA  M.  ALCOTT 

shipped  him  in  a  truly  romantic  fashion.  At  night,  after 
she  had  gone  to  her  room,  she  wrote  him  long  passionate 
letters,  expressing  her  devotion,  but  she  never  sent  the  let 
ters — only  told  him  of  them  in  later  years,  when  they  laughed 
together  over  her  girlish  fancy.  Once,  she  confessed  to 
having  sat  in  a  tall  cherry-tree  at  midnight  and  sung  to  the 
moon  until  the  owls  scared  her  to  bed;  and  of  having  sung 
Mignon's  song  under  his  window  in  very  bad  German,  and 
strewed  wild  flowers  over  his  door-step  in  the  darkness. 
This  sounds  very  sentimental  and  silly,  but  Louisa  was  never 
that.  She  had  a  deep,  intense  nature,  which  as  yet  had 
found  no  outlet  or  expression,  and  she  could  have  had  no 
safer  hero  to  worship  than  this  gentle,  serene,  wise  man  whose 
friendship  for  her  family  was  so  practical  in  its  expression. 
Also  at  that  period,  which  Louisa  herself  in  her  diary  calls 
the  "sentimental  period,"  she  was  strongly  influenced  by 
the  poet  and  naturalist,  Thoreau.  From  him  she  learned  to 
know  Nature  in  a  closer  and  more  loving  intimacy.  Thoreau 
was  called  a  hermit,  and  known  as  a  genius,  and  more  often 
than  not  he  could  be  found  in  his  hut  in  the  woods,  or  on 
the  river  bank,  where  he  learned  to  look  for  the  bright-eyed 
"Alcott  girl,"  who  would  swing  along  his  side  in  twenty-mile 
tramps,  eager  and  inquisitive  about  everything,  learning 
new  facts  about  flowers  and  trees  and  birds  and  insects  from 
the  great  man  at  her  side.  Truly  a  fortunate  girl  was 
Louisa,  with  two  such  friends  and  teachers  as  the  great 
Emerson  and  Thoreau.  Hawthorne,  too,  fascinated  her  in 
his  shy  reserve,  and  the  young  girl  in  her  teens  with  a  tre 
mendous  ability  to  do  and  to  be  something  worth  while  in 
life  could  have  had  no  more  valuable  preface  to  her  life  as  a 
writer  than  that  of  the  happy  growing  days  at  Concord, 
with  that  group  of  remarkable  men. 

At  that  time  she  did  not  think  seriously  of  having  talent 
for  writing,  as  she  had  only  written  a  half-dozen  pieces  of 

219 


TEN  AMERICAN  GIRLS  FROM  HISTORY 

verse,  among  them  one  called  "My  Kingdom,"  which  has 
been  preserved  as  a  bit  of  girlish  yearning  for  the  best  in 
religion  and  in  character,  sweetly  expressed,  and  some 
thrilling  melodramas  for  the  "troupe"  in  the  barn  to  act. 
These  were  overflowing  with  villains  and  heroes,  and  were 
lurid  enough  to  satisfy  the  most  intense  of  her  audience. 
Later  some  of  them  were  collected  under  the  title  of  "Comic 
Tragedies  " — but  at  best  they  only  serve  to  show  how  full  of 
imaginative  possibilities  the  girl's  nature  was. 

Although  the  Alcotts  had  their  own  home  in  Concord  now, 
it  was  yet  almost  impossible  to  make  ends  meet,  and  with  the 
sturdy  independence  which  proved  to  be  one  of  her  marked 
traits,  Louisa  determined  to  earn  some  money  and  add  to 
the  family  income.  It  was  no  easy  thing  to  do,  for  there 
were  few  avenues  of  work  open  to  girls  in  that  day.  But 
she  could  teach,  for  it  was  quite  a  popular  resource  to  open  a 
small  school  in  some  barn,  with  a  select  set  of  pupils.  Louisa 
herself  had  been  to  one  of  these  "barn  schools,"  and  now  she 
opened  one  in  Mr.  Emerson's  barn,  but  it  paid  very  poorly,  as 
did  everything  which  the  Alcotts  attempted  to  do.  The 
brave  mother  was  so  completely  discouraged,  that  when  one 
day  a  friend  passing  through  Concord  called  on  her,  Mrs 
Alcott  confessed  the  state  of  her  financial  affairs.  As  a 
result  of  that  confession,  the  family  once  more  migrated  to 
Boston,  leaving  the  Hawthornes  as  occupants  of  "Hillside." 
In  the  city  Mrs.  Alcott  was  given  a  position  as  visitor  to  the 
poor  by  a  benevolent  association,  and  she  also  kept  an 
employment  agency — a  more  respectable  occupation  than 
it  was  in  later  years.  Once  more  there  was  money  in  the 
treasury,  and  with  their  usual  happy  optimism  the  family 
cheered  up  and  decided  that  life  was  worth  living,  even  under 
the  most  trying  circumstances.  While  his  wife  was  busy 
in  that  way,  Mr.  Alcott  gradually  drew  a  circle  of  people 
around  him  to  whom  his  theories  of  life  were  acceptable,  and 

220 


LOUISA  M.  ALCOTT 

who  paid  a  small  price  to  attend  the  "conversations"  he 
held  on  subjects  which  interested  him  to  discuss.  Being 
appreciated,  even  by  a  small  audience,  was  balm  to  the 
wounded  spirit  of  the  gentle  philosopher,  whose  "  Fruitlands  " 
experiment  had  been  such  a  bitter  one,  and  now  he  was  as 
happy  as  though  he  were  earning  large  amounts  by  his 
work,  instead  of  the  meager  sum  paid  by  his  disciples  to  hear 
him  talk  of  his  pet  theories.  But  he  was  contented,  and  his 
happiness  was  reflected  by  his  adoring  family.  Mrs.  Alcott, 
too,  was  satisfied  with  the  work  she  was  doing,  so  for  a  time 
all  went  well  with  the  "Pathetic  Family"  as  Louisa  had 
christened  them. 

Louisa,  meanwhile,  was  learning  many  lessons  as  she 
traveled  slowly  up  the  road  to  womanhood — learning  cour 
age  and  self-denial,  linked  with  cheerfulness  from  mother 
and  father,  and  enjoying  a  wholesome  comradeship  in  the 
home  life  with  her  sisters. 

Anna,  the  oldest  daughter,  was  much  like  her  father.  She 
never  worried  about  her  soul  or  her  shortcomings  as  Louisa 
did;  she  accepted  life  as  it  came,  without  question,  and  was 
of  a  calm  nature,  unlike  turbulent,  questioning  Louisa,  who 
had  as  many  moods  as  there  were  hours  in  a  day  and  who 
found  ruling  her  tempestuous  nature  the  hardest  piece  of 
work  life  offered  her.  She  confesses  in  her  diary:  "My 
quick  tongue  is  always  getting  me  into  trouble,  and  my 
moodiness  makes  it  hard  to  be  cheerful  when  I  think  how 
poor  we  are,  how  much  worry  it  is  to  live,  and  how  many 
things  I  long  to  do — I  never  can.  So  every  day  is  a  battle, 
and  I'm  so  tired  I  don't  want  to  live,  only  it's  cowardly  to 
die  till  you  have  done  something."  Having  made  this  con 
fession  to  an  unresponsive  page  of  her  journal,  the  restless 
nature  gave  up  the  desire  to  be  a  coward,  and  turned  to 
achieving  whatever  work  might  come  to  her  hand  to  do, 
little  dreaming  what  was  before  her  in  the  coming  years. 

221 


TEN  AMERICAN  GIRLS  FROM  HISTORY 

She  was  very  fine  looking,  of  which  she  evidently  was  con 
scious,  for  she  says  in  her  diary: 

"If  I  look  in  my  glass  I  try  to  keep  down  vanity  about  my 
long  hair,  my  well-shaped  head,  and  my  good  nose/'  Be 
sides  these  good  points  of  which  she  speaks  so  frankly,  she 
was  tali  and  graceful,  with  a  heavy  mass  of  glossy,  chestnut- 
brown  hair.  Her  complexion  was  clear  and  full  of  color,  and 
her  dark-blue  eyes  were  deep-set  and  very  expressive. 

During  those  years  in  Boston,  the  Alcotts  spent  two  sum 
mers  in  an  uncle's  roomy  house,  where  they  enjoyed  such 
comforts  as  had  not  before  fallen  to  their  lot,  and  calm 
Anna,  sweet  retiring  Beth,  or  Betty,  as  she  was  called,  and 
artistic  May,  the  youngest  of  the  flock,  revelled  in  having 
rooms  of  their  own,  and  plenty  of  space  for  their  own  be 
longings.  May  was  a  pretty,  golden-haired,  blue-eyed 
child  with  decided  tastes,  and  an  ability  to  get  what  she 
most  wanted  in  life  without  much  effort — an  ability  which 
poor  Louisa  entirely  lacked,  for  her  success  always  came  as 
the  result  of  exhausting  work. 

Louisa  was  now  seventeen  years  old,  and  Anna  nineteen. 
At  that  time  came  the  small-pox  siege,  and  after  Anna  had 
recovered  partially  she  was  obliged  to  take  a  rest,  leaving 
her  small  school  in  Louisa's  charge.  There  were  twenty 
scholars,  and  it  was  a  great  responsibility  for  the  girl  of 
seventeen,  but  she  took  up  the  work  with  such  enthusiasm 
that  she  managed  to  captivate  her  pupils,  whose  attention 
she  held  by  illustrating  many  of  their  lessons  with  original 
stories,  telling  them  in  a  way  they  would  never  forget. 
When  Anna  came  back  the  school  was  so  flourishing  that 
Louisa  continued  to  help  with  the  teaching,  and  it  seemed 
probable  that  she  had  found  her  greatest  talent,  although 
little  did  she  guess  how  many  interesting  avenues  of  experi 
ence  were  to  widen  before  her  wondering  eyes  before  she 
was  to  settle  down  to  her  life-work. 

222 


LOUISA  M.  ALCOTT 

Meanwhile  she  kept  on  helping  Anna  with  her  school,  and 
to  liven  up  the  daily  routine  of  a  rather  dull  existence  she 
began  to  write  thrilling  plays,  which  she  always  read  to 
Anna,  who  criticized  and  helped  revise  them  with  sisterly  se 
verity.  The  plays  were  acted  by  a  group  of  the  girls'  friends, 
with  Anna  and  Louisa  usually  taking  the  principal  parts. 
From  creating  these  wonderful  melodramas,  which  always 
won  loud  applause  from  an  enthusiastic  audience,  and  be 
cause  of  her  real  ability  to  act,  Louisa  now  decided  that  she 
would  go  on  the  real  stage.  "Anna  wants  to  be  an  actress, 
and  so  do  I,"  she  wrote  in  her  diary.  "We  could  make 
plenty  of  money  perhaps,  and  it  is  a  very  gay  life.  Mother 
says  we  are  too  young,  and  must  wait." 

Wise  mother,  and  firm  as  wise!  The  girls  were  obliged 
to  accept  her  decree,  and  Louisa  was  so  depressed  by  it  that  for 
a  time  she  made  every  one  miserable  by  her  down-cast  mood. 
Then,  fortunately,  an  interested  relative  showed  one  of  her 
plays  to  the  manager  of  the  Boston  Theater.  He  read 
"The  Rival  Prima  Donnas"  with  kindly  eyes,  and  offered  to 
stage  it.  Here  was  good  luck  indeed!  The  entire  Alcott 
family  held  as  great  a  jubilation  when  they  heard  the  news  as 
if  they  had  fallen  heir  to  a  fortune,  and  Louisa  at  once  forgot 
her  ambition  to  act,  in  her  ambition  to  be  known  as  a  suc 
cessful  play-wright. 

Unfortunately,  there  was  some  hitch  in  the  arrangements, 
and  the  play  was  never  produced,  but  the  manager  sent 
Louisa  a  free  pass  to  the  theater,  which  gave  her  a  play 
wright's  pride  whenever  she  used  it,  and  her  enjoyment  in 
anticipating  the  production  had  been  so  great  that  she  was 
able  to  bear  the  actual  disappointment  with  real  philosophy. 
And  by  thattime  her  mood  had  changed.  Although  she  always 
loved  to  act,  and  acted  well,  her  own  good  sense  had  asserted 
itself,  and  she  had  set  aside  a  dramatic  career,  realizing 
that  it  included  too  many  difficulties  and  hardships. 

223 


TEN  AMERICAN  GIRLS  FROM  HISTORY 

Her  next  adventure  was  quite  different.  To  her  mother's 
employment  office  came  a  gentleman  who  wished  a  com 
panion  for  his  old  father  and  sister.  The  position  offered 
only  light  work,  and  seemed  a  good  one  in  every  respect,  and 
impulsive  Louisa,  who  happened  to  hear  the  request,  asked 
her  mother,  eagerly:  "Can't  I  go?  Oh,  do  let  me  take  it!" 
Her  mother,  thinking  the  experience  would  not  be  harmful, 
let  her  accept  the  position,  and  as  a  result  she  had  two  of  the 
most  disillusioning  and  hard  months  of  her  life.  She  had 
her  revenge  later  by  writing  a  story  called  "How  I  Went  Out 
to  Service,"  in  which  she  described  the  experience  in  a  vivid 
way. 

An  extract  from  her  "heart  journal,"  as  she  now  called 
her  diary,  is  a  revelation  of  home  life  which  gave  to  Louisa 
much  of  that  understanding  of  human  nature  which  has 
made  her  books  so  popular.  She  says:  "Our  poor  little 
home  had  much  love  and  happiness  in  it,  and  was  a  shelter 
for  lost  girls,  abused  wives,  friendless  children  and  weak 
or  wicked  men.  Father  and  mother  had  no  money  to  give, 
but  gave  their  time,  sympathy,  help,  and  if  blessings  would 
make  them  rich  they  would  be  millionaires.  This  is  practical 
Christianity." 

At  that  time  they  were  living  in  a  small  house,  with  Beth 
as  housekeeper,  while  Anna  and  Louisa  taught,  May  went  to 
school,  and  the  mother  attended  to  her  own  work.  Mr. 
Alcott,  too,  was  doing  all  he  could  to  add  to  the  family  in 
come  by  his  lectures,  and  by  writing  articles  on  his  favorite 
subjects,  so  all  together,  they  managed  to  live  in  some  sort  of 
fashion.  But  Louisa  had  now  made  up  her  mind  that  she 
must  do  more  for  the  comfort  of  the  beloved  mother,  who 
was  always  overworked  and  worried,  despite  her  courage 
and  cheery  manner,  and  she  decided  to  try  to  publish  a  story. 

Full  of  the  intention,  one  night,  she  sat  down  on  the  floor 
and  searched  through  the  pile  of  papers  which  included  most 

224 


LOUISA  M.  ALCOTT 

of  her  "scribblings"  since  her  first  use  of  a  pen.  Plays, 
poems  and  many  other  closely  written  sheets  were  thrown 
aside.  At  last  she  found  what  she  was  looking  for,  and  read 
and  re-read  it  three  times,  then  set  it  aside  until  morning, 
when,  with  the  greatest  possible  secrecy,  she  put  it  in  an 
envelope,  sealed,  addressed  and  mailed  it.  From  that  time 
she  went  about  her  work  with  the  air  of  one  whose  mind  is 
on  greater  things,  but  she  was  always  wide  awake  enough 
when  it  came  time  for  some  one  to  go  for  the  mail, 
and  her  sisters  joked  her  about  her  eagerness  for  letters, 
which  she  bore  good-naturedly  enough.  Then  came  a 
wonderful  day  when  she  was  handed  a  letter  from  a  well- 
known  firm  of  publishers.  Her  hand  shook  as  she  opened 
it,  and  she  gave  a  suppressed  cry  of  joy  as  she  read  the 
short  note,  and  looked  with  amazement  at  the  bit  of  paper 
enclosed.1 

Later  in  the  day,  when  the  housework  was  done  and 'school 
was  over,  she  sauntered  into  the  room  where  the  family  was 
gathered  in  a  sewing-bee.  Throwing  herself  into  a  chair 
with  an  indifferent  air,  she  asked : 

"Want  to  hear  a  good  story?" 

Of  course  they  did.  The  Alcotts  were  always  ready  for  a 
story,  and  Louisa  read  extremely  well.  Her  audience  lis 
tened  to  the  thrilling  tale  with  eager  attention,  and  at  the 
end  there  was  a  chorus  of  cries:  "How  fine!  How  lovely! 
How  interesting!"  Then  Anna  asked:  "Who  wrote  it?" 
With  shining  eyes  and  crimson  cheeks  Louisa  jumped  to 
her  feet  and,  waving  the  paper  overhead,  cried: 

"  Your  sister  I     I  wrote  it!    Yes,  I  really  did !" 

One  can  imagine  the  great  excitement  of  the  group  who 
then  clustered  around  the  authoress  and  asked  questions 
all  at  once. 

That  first  published  story  was  pronounced  by  its  creator 
to  be  "great  rubbish,"  and  she  only  received  the  sum  of  five 

225 


TEN  AMERICAN  GIRLS   FROM  HISTORY 

dollars  for  it,  but  it  was  a  beginning,  and  from  that  time  in 
her  active  brain  plots  for  stones  long  and  short  began  to 
simmer,  although  she  still  taught,  and  often  did  sewing  in 
the  evenings,  for  which  she  was  fairly  well  paid. 

In  mid-winter  of  1853  Mr.  Alcott  went  West  on  a  lecture 
tour,  full  of  hope  for  a  financial  success.  He  left  the  home 
group  as  busy  as  usual,  for  Mrs,  Alcott  had  several  boarders, 
as  well  as  her  employment  office.  Anna  had  gone  to  Syracuse 
to  teach  in  a  school  there,  Louisa  had  opened  a  home  school 
with  ten  pupils,  and  the  calm  philosopher  felt  that  he  could 
leave  them  with  a  quiet  mind,  as  they  were  all  earning 
money,  and  this  was  his  opportunity  to  broaden  the  field  in 
which  the  seeds  of  unique  ideas  were  sown. 

So  off  he  went,  full  of  eager  courage,  followed  by  the  good 
wishes  of  the  girls,  who  fondly  hoped  that  "father  would  be 
appreciated  at  last."  Alas  for  hopes!  On  a  February 
night,  when  all  the  household  were  sleeping  soundly,  the  bell 
rang  violently.  All  were  awakened,  and  Louisa  says, 
"Mother  flew  down,  crying  'my  husband!'  We  rushed 
after,  and  five  white  figures  embraced  the  half-frozen  wan 
derer  who  came  in  tired,  hungry,  cold  and  disappointed,  but 
smiling  bravely,  and  as  serene  as  ever.  We  fed  and  warmed 
and  brooded  over  him,"  says  Louisa,  "  longing  to  ask  if  he  had 
made  any  money,  but  none  did  till  little  May  said,  after  he 
had  told  all  the  pleasant  things:  'Well,  did  people  pay 
you?'  Then,  with  a  queer  look,  he  opened  his  pocket- 
book  and  showed  one  dollar,  saying  with  a  smile  that  made 
our  eyes  fill:  'Only  that!  My  overcoat  was  stolen,  and  I 
had  to  buy  a  shawl.  Many  promises  were  not  kept,  and 
traveling  is  costly,  but  I  have  opened  the  way,  and  another 
year  shall  do  better/ 

"I  shall  never  forget/'  adds  Louisa,  "how  beautifully 
mother  answered  him,  though  the  dear  hopeful  soul  had  built 
much  on  his  success;  but  with  a  beaming  face  she  kissed 

226 


LOUISA  M.  ALCOTT 

him,  saying,  'I  call  that  doing  very  well.  Since  you  are 
safely  home,  dear,  we  don't  ask  anything  more/ 

"Anna  and  I  choked  down  our  tears,  and  took  a  lesson 
in  real  love  which  we  never  forgot.  ...  It  was  half  tragic 
and  comic,  for  father  was  very  dirty  and  sleepy,  and  mother 
in  a  big  night-cap  and  funny  old  jacket." 

Surely  no  one  ever  had  a  better  opportunity  to  probe  to 
the  heart  of  the  real  emotions  that  make  up  the  most  prosaic 
as  well  as  the  most  heroic  daily  lives  than  a  member  of  that 
generous,  happy,  loving  Alcott  family. 

And  still  Louisa  kept  on  doing  other  things  besides  the 
writing,  which  was  such  a  safety  valve  for  her  intense  nature. 
For  a  short  time  she  worked  for  a  relative  in  the  country, 
and  she  also  taught  and  sewed  and  did  housework,  and 
made  herself  useful  wherever  her  strong  hands  and  willing 
heart  could  find  some  way  of  earning  a  dollar. 

The  seven  years  spent  in  Boston  had  developed  her  into  a 
capable  young  woman  of  twenty-two,  who  was  ready  and 
eager  to  play  her  part  in  the  great  drama  of  life  of  which 
she  was  an  interested  spectator  as  she  saw  it  constantly 
enacted  around  her. 

Even  then,  before  she  had  stepped  across  the  threshold  of 
her  career,  she  unconsciously  realized  that  the  home  stage 
is  the  real  background  of  the  supreme  world  drama,  and  she 
shows  this  by  the  intimate,  tender  domestic  scenes  which 
made  all  of  her  stories  bits  of  real  life,  with  a  strong  appeal 
to  those  whose  homes  are  joyous  parts  of  the  present,  or 
sacred  memories. 

When  she  was  determined  to  achieve  an  end,  Louisa 
Alcott  generally  succeeded,  even  in  the  face  of  obstacles; 
and  now  having  decided  to  take  on  her  own  broad  shoulders 
some  of  the  burdens  which  were  weighing  heavily  on  her 
beloved  mother,  she  turned  to  the  talent  which  had  recently 
yielded  her  the  magnificent  sum  of  five  dollars.  In  the  days 
16  227 


TEN  AMERICAN  GIRLS   FROM  HISTORY 

at  Concord  she  had  told  many  stones  about  fairies  and 
flowers  to  the  little  Emerson  children  and  their  friends,  who 
eagerly  drank  in  all  the  mystic  tales  in  which  wood-nymphs, 
water  sprites,  giants  and  fairy  queens  played  a  prominent 
part,  and  the  stones  were  thrilling,  because  their  teller  be 
lieved  absolutely  in  the  fairy  creatures  she  pictured  in  a 
lovely  setting  of  woodland  glades  and  forest  dells.  These 
stories,  which  she  had  written  down  and  called  "Flower 
Fables,"  she  found  among  her  papers,  and  as  she  read  them 
again  she  felt  that  they  might  interest  other  children  as 
they  had  those  to  whom  they  were  told.  She  had  no  money 
to  publish  them,  however,  and  no  publisher  would  bear  the 
expense  of  a  venture  by  an  untried  writer.  But  it  took 
more  than  that  to  daunt  Louisa  when  her  mind  was  made  up. 
With  great  enthusiasm  she  told  a  friend  of  the  family, 
Miss  Wealthy  Stevens,  of  her  desire,  and  she  generously 
offered  to  pay  for  publication,  but  it  was  decided  not  to  tell 
the  family  until  the  book  should  come  out.  Then  in  radiant 
secrecy  Louisa  burned  the  midnight  oil  and  prepared  the 
little  book  for  the  press.  One  can  fancy  the  proud  surprise 
of  Mrs.  Alcott  when,  on  the  following  Christmas  morning, 
among  her  pile  of  gifts  she  found  the  little  volume  with 

this  note: 

December  25,  1854. 
DEAR  MOTHER: 

Into  your  Christmas  stocking  I  have  put  my  first-born,  knowing  that 
you  will  accept  it  with  all  its  faults  (for  grandmothers  are  always  kind) 
and  look  upon  it  merely  as  an  earnest  of  what  I  may  yet  do;  for  with  so 
much  to  cheer  me  on,  I  hope  to  pass  in  time  from  fairies  and  fables  to  men 
and  realities.     Whatever  beauty  or  poetry  is  to  be  found  in  my  little  book 
is  owing  to  your  interest  in,  and  encouragement  of,  my  efforts  from  the 
first  to  the  last,  and  if  ever  I  do  anything  to  be  proud  of,  my  greatest  hap 
piness  will  be  that  I  can  thank  you  for  that,  as  I  may  do  for  all  the  good 
there  is  in  me,  and  I  shall  be  content  to  write  if  it  gives  you  pleasure. 
Jo  is  fussing  about, 
My  lamp  is  going  out. 
228 


LOUISA  M.  ALCOTT 

To  dear  mother,  with  many  kind  wishes  for  a  Happy  New  Year  and 
Merry  Christmas, 

I  am  ever  your  loving  daughter, 

LOUY. 

Recompense  enough,  that  note,  for  all  a  loving  mother's 
sacrifices  and  attempts  to  give  her  daughter  understanding 
sympathy  and  love — and  it  is  small  wonder  if  that  Christmas 
gift  always  remained  one  of  her  most  precious  possessions. 

Six  hundred  copies  of  the  little  "Flower  Fables"  were 
published,  and  the  book  sold  very  well,  although  their 
author  only  received  the  sum  of  $32  for  them,  which  was 
in  sharp  contrast,  she  says  in  her  journal,  "to  the  receipts 
of  six  months  only  in  1886,  being  eight  thousand  dollars  for 
the  sale  of  books  and  no  new  one;  but"  she  adds,  "I  was 
prouder  over  the  thirty-two  dollars  than  the  eight  thousand." 

Louisa  Alcott  was  now  headed  toward  her  destiny,  al 
though  she  was  still  a  long  way  from  the  shining  goal  of 
literary  success,  and  had  many  weary  hills  yet  to  climb. 

As  soon  as  Flower  Fables  was  published,  she  began  to  plan 
for  a  new  volume  of  fairy  tales,  and  as  she  was  invited  to 
spend  the  next  summer  in  the  lovely  New  Hampshire  village 
of  Walpole,  she  thankfully  accepted  the  invitation,  and 
decided  to  write  the  new  book  there  in  the  bracing  air  of  the 
hill  town.  In  Walpole,  she  met  delightful  people,  who  were 
all  attracted  to  the  versatile,  amusing  young  woman,  and 
she  was  in  great  demand  when  there  was  any  entertainment 
on  foot.  One  evening  she  gave  a  burlesque  lecture  on 
"Woman,  and  Her  Position,  by  Oronthy  Bluggage,"  which 
created  such  a  gale  of  merriment  that  she  was  asked  to  repeat 
it  for  money,  which  she  did;  and  so  there  was  added  to  her 
store  of  accomplishments  another,  from  which  she  was  to 
reap  some  rewards  in  coming  years. 

Her  enjoyment  of  Walpole  was  so  great  that  her  family 
decided  to  try  its  fine  air,  as  they  were  tired  of  city  life  and 

229 


TEN  AMERICAN  GIRLS   FROM   HISTORY 

needed  a  change  of  scene.  A  friend  offered  them  a  house 
there,  rent  free,  and  in  their  usual  impromptu  way  they  left 
Boston  and  arrived  in  the  country  village,  bag  and  baggage. 
Mr.  Alcott  was  overjoyed  to  have  a  garden  in  which  to 
work,  and  Mrs.  Alcott  was  glad  to  be  near  her  niece,  whose 
guest  Louisa  had  been  up  to  that  time. 

Louisa's  comment  on  their  arrival  in  her  diary  was: 

"Busy  and  happy  times  as  we  settle  in  the  little  house  in 
the  lane,  near  by  my  dear  ravine — plays,  picnics,  pleasant 
people  and  good  neighbors."  Despite  the  good  times,  it  is 
evident  that  she  was  not  idle,  for  she  says,  "Finished  fairy 
book  in  September.  .  .  .  Better  than  Flower  Fables.  Now, 
I  must  try  to  sell  it." 

In  September  Anna  had  an  offer  to  become  a  teacher  in  the 
great  idiot  asylum  in  Syracuse.  Her  sensitive  nature 
shrank  from  the  work,  but  with  real  self-sacrifice  she  ac 
cepted  it  for  the  sake  of  the  family,  and  went  off  in  October. 
Meanwhile  Louisa  had  been  thinking  deeply  about  her 
future,  and  her  diary  tells  the  story  of  a  decision  she  made, 
quite  the  most  important  one  of  her  life.  She  writes  : 

"November;  decided  to  seek  my  fortune,  so  with  my 
little  trunk  of  home-made  clothes,  $40  earned  by  stories  sent 
to  the  Gazette,  and  my  MSS.,  I  set  forth  with  mother's  bless 
ing  one  rainy  day  in  the  dullest  month  in  the  year." 

She  went  straight  to  Boston,  where  she  writes : 

"Found  it  too  late  to  do  anything  with  the  book  (the  new 
one  she  had  written  at  Walpole)  so  put  it  away  and  tried  for 
teaching,  sewing,  or  any  honest  work.  Won't  go  home  to  sit 
idle  while  I  have  a  head  and  a  pair  of  hands." 

Good  for  you,  Louisa — you  are  the  stuff  that  success  is 
made  of!  That  her  courage  had  its  reward  is  shown  by  the  fact 
that  her  cousins,  the  Sewalls,  generously  offered  her  a  home 
for  the  winter  with  them  which  she  gratefully  accepted,  but 
insisted  on  paying  for  her  board  by  doing  a  great  deal  of 

230 


LOUISA  M.  ALCOTT 

sewing  for  them.  She  says  in  her  diary:  "I  sew  for  Mollie 
and  others  and  write  stones.  C.  gave  me  books  to  notice. 
Heard  Thackeray.  Anxious  times;  Anna  very  home-sick. 
Walpole  very  cold  and  dull,  now  the  summer  butterflies  have 
gone.  Got  $5  for  a  tale  and  $12  for  sewing;  sent  home  a 
Christmas  box  to  cheer  the  dear  souls  in  the  snow-banks." 

In  January  she  writes:  "C.  paid  $6  for  A  Sister's  Trial, 
gave  me  more  books  to  notice,  and  wants  more  tales." 
The  entries  that  follow  give  a  vivid  picture  of  her  pluck 
and  perseverance  in  that  first  winter  of  fortune-seeking, 
and  no  record  of  deeds  could  be  more  graphic  than  the  fol 
lowing  entries : 

"Sewed  for  L.  W.  Sewall  and  others.  Mr.  Field  took  my 
farce  to  Mobile  to  bring  out;  Mr.  Barry  of  the  Boston 
Theater  has  the  play.  Heard  Curtis  lecture.  Began  a 
book  for  summer,  Beach  Bubbles.  Mr.  F.  of  the  Courier 
printed  a  poem  of  mine  on  'Little  NelP.  Got  $10  for 
*  Bertha '  and  saw  great  yellow  placards  stuck  up  announcing 
it.  Acted  at  the  W's.  March;  got  $10  for  'Genevieve'. 
Prices  go  up  as  people  like  the  tales  and  ask  who  wrote 
them.  .  .  .  Sewed  a  great  deal,  and  got  very  tired;  one  job 
for  Mr.  G.  of  a  dozen  pillow-cases,  one  dozen  sheets,  six  fine 
cambric  neck-ties,  and  two  dozen  handkerchiefs,  at  which  I 
had  to  work  all  one  night  to  get  them  done,  ...  I  got  only 
$4.00."  The  brave,  young  fortune-seeker  adds  sensibly, 
"Sewing  won't  make  my  fortune,  but  I  can  plan  my  stories 
while  I  work." 

In  May  she  had  a  welcome  visit  from  Anna  on  her  way 
home  from  Syracuse,  as  the  work  there  was  too  hard  for  her, 
and  the  sisters  spent  some  happy  days  together  in  Boston. 
Then  they  were  obliged  to  go  home,  as  dear  little  Beth  was 
very  sick  with  scarlet-fever  which  she  caught  from  some 
poor  children  Mrs.  Alcott  had  been  nursing.  Both  Beth 
and  May  had  the  dangerous  disease,  and  Beth  never  recov- 

231 


TEN  AMERICAN  GIRLS  FROM  HISTORY 

ered  from  the  effects  of  it,  although  she  lived  for  two  years,  a 
serene,  patient  invalid,  who  shed  a  benediction  on  the  sor 
rowing  household.  That  summer  was  an  anxious  time  for 
the  family.  In  her  usual  way  Louisa  plunged  head-long 
into  housework  and  nursing,  and  when  night  came  she  would 
scribble  one  of  the  stories  which  the  papers  were  now  glad 
to  accept  whenever  she  could  send  them.  So  with  varying 
degrees  of  apprehension  and  rejoicing,  the  weary  months 
passed,  and  as  Beth  was  slowly  improving  and  she  was  not 
needed  at  home,  Louisa  decided  to  spend  another  winter  in 
the  city.  Her  diary  says: 

"There  I  can  support  myself  and  help  the  family.  C. 
offers  $10  a  month  and  perhaps  more.  .  .  .  Others  have 
plenty  of  sewing;  the  play  may  come  out,  and  Mrs.  R. 
will  give  me  a  sky-parlor  for  $3  a  week,  with  fire  and 
board.  I  sew  for  her  also."  With  practical  forethought, 
she  adds,  "If  I  can  get  A.  L.  to  governess  I  shall  be  all 
right." 

Then  in  a  burst  of  the  real  spirit  which  had  animated  her 
ever  since  she  first  began  to  write  and  sew  and  teach  and 
act,  and  make  over  old  clothes  given  her  by  rich  friends 
that  she  need  not  spend  any  money  on  herself,  she  declares 
in  her  diary: 

"I  was  born  with  a  boy's  spirit  under  my  bib  and  tucker. 
I  cant  wait  when  I  can  work;  so  I  took  my  little  talent  in  my 
hand  and  forced  the  world  again,  braver  than  before,  and 
wiser  for  my  failures." 

That  the  decision  was  no  light  one,  and  that  the  winter  in 
Boston  was  not  merely  an  adventure,  is  shown  by  her  declara 
tion: 

"I  don't  often  pray  in  words;  but  when  I  set  out  that  day 
with  all  my  worldly  goods  in  the  little  old  trunk,  my  own 
earnings  ($25)  in  my  pocket,  and  much  hope  and  resolution 
in  my  soul,  my  heart  was  very  full,  and  I  said  to  the  Lord, 

232 


LOUISA  M.  ALCOTT 

'Help  us  all,  and  keep  us  for  one  another,'  as  I  never  said  it 
before,  while  I  looked  back  at  the  dear  faces  watching  me, 
so  full  of  love,  and  hope,  and  faith." 

Louisa  Alcott's  childhood  and  girlhood,  with  all  the 
hardships  and  joys  which  went  into  the  passing  years,  had 
been  merged  in  a  triumphant  young  womanhood — a  fitting 
preface  to  the  years  of  fame  and  fortune  which  were  to 
follow.  A  brave,  interesting  girl  had  become  a  courageous 
older  woman,  who  faced  the  untried  future  with  her  small 
earnings  in  her  pocket,  her  worldly  goods  in  her  trunk,  and 
hopeful  determination  in  her  heart  to  do  some  worth-while 
thing  in  the  world,  for  the  sake  of  those  she  dearly  loved. 
She  had  started  up  the  steep  slope  of  her  life's  real  adven 
turing,  and  despite  the  rough  paths  over  which  she  must 
still  travel  before  reaching  her  goal,  she  was  more  and  more  a 
sympathetic  comrade  to  the  weak  or  weary,  ever  a  gallant 
soldier,  and  a  noble  woman,  born  to  do  great  deeds.  So 
enthusiastic  was  she  in  playing  her  part  in  the  world's  work, 
that  when  she  was  twenty-seven  years  old,  and  still  toiling 
on,  with  a  scant  measure  of  either  wealth  or  fame,  she 
exclaimed  at  a  small  success: 

"Hurrah!  My  story  was  accepted  and  Lowell  asked  if  it 
was  not  a  translation  from  the  German,  it  was  so  unlike 
other  tales.  I  felt  much  set  up,  and  my  fifty  dollars  will  be 
very  haxppy  money.  ...  I  have  not  been  pegging  away  all 
these  years  in  vain,  and  I  may  yet  have  books  and  publish 
ers,  and  a  fortune  of  my  own.  Success  has  gone  to  my  head, 
and  I  wander  a  little. 

"Twenty-seven  years  old  and  very  happy!" 

The  prediction  of  "books,  publishers  and  a  fortune"  came 
true  in  1868,  when  a  Boston  firm  urged  her  to  write  a  story 
for  girls,  and  she  had  the  idea  of  describing  the  early  life  of 
her  own  home,  with  its  many  episodes  and  incidents.  She 

233 


TEN  AMERICAN  GIRLS   FROM  HISTORY 

wrote  the  book  and  called  it  Little  Women,  and  was  the  most 
surprised  person  in  the  world,  when  from  her  cozy  corner  of 
Concord  she  watched  edition  after  edition  being  published, 
and  found  that  she  had  become  famous.  From  that  mo 
ment  Louisa  Alcott  belonged  to  the  public,  and  one  has  but 
to  turn  to  the  pages  of  her  ably  edited  Life,  Letters  and 
Journals,  to  realize  the  source  from  which  she  got  the  mate 
rial  for  her  "simple  story  of  simple  girls,"  bound  by  a  beau 
tiful  tie  of  family  love,  that  neither  poverty,  sorrow  nor 
death  could  sever.  Four  little  pilgrims,  struggling  onward 
and  upward  through  all  the  difficulties  that  beset  them  on 
their  way,  in  Concord,  Boston,  Walpole  and  elsewhere,  had 
provided  human  documents  which  the  genius  of  Louisa 
Alcott  made  into  an  imperishable  story  for  the  delight  and 
inspiration  of  succeeding  generations  of  girls. 

Little  Women  was  followed  by  Little  Men,  Old  Fashioned 
Girl,  Eight  Cousins,  Rose  in  Bloom,  Under  the  Lilacs,  and  a 
long  line  of  other  charming  books  for  young  people.  And, 
although  the  incidents  in  them  were  not  all  taken  from  real 
life  as  were  those  of  her  first  "immortal,"  yet  was  each  and 
every  book  a  faithful  picture  of  every-day  life.  That  is 
where  the  genius  of  Louisa  Alcott  came  in.  From  the 
depicting  of  fairies  and  gnomes,  princes  and  kings,  she  early 
turned  to  paint  the  real,  the  vital  and  the  heroic,  which  is 
being  lived  in  so  many  households  where  there  is  little 
money  and  no  luxury,  but  much  light-hearted  laughter, 
tender  affection  for  one  another,  and  a  deep  and  abiding 
love  of  humanity. 

Well  may  all  aspiring  young  Americans  take  example 
from  the  author  of  Little  Women,  and  when  longing  to  set 
the  world  on  fire  in  the  expression  of  their  genius,  learn  not 
to  despise  or  to  turn  away  from  the  simple,  commonplace 
details  of  every-day  life. 

And  for  successful  life  and  work,  there  is  no  better  inspira- 

234 


LOUISA  M.  ALCOTT 

tion  than  the  three  rules  given  Louisa  Alcott  in  girlhood  for 
her  daily  guidance: 

Rule  yourself; 

Love  your  neighbor; 

Do  the  duty  which  lies  nearest  you. 


CLARA  MORRIS:  THE  GIRL  WHO  WON  FAME 
AS  AN  ACTRESS 

A  CERTAIN  young  person  who  lived  in  a  boarding-house 
in  the  city  of  Cleveland,  Ohio,  was  approaching  her 
thirteenth  birthday,  which  fact  made  her  feel  very  old,  and 
also  very  anxious  to  do  some  kind  of  work,  as  she  saw  her 
mother  busily  engaged  from  morning  to  night,  in  an  effort 
to  earn  a  living  for  her  young  daughter  and  herself. 

Spring  came  in  that  year  with  furious  heat,  and  the  young 
person,  seeing  her  mother  cruelly  over-worked,  felt  hope 
lessly  big  and  helpless.  The  humiliation  of  having  some 
one  working  to  support  her — and  with  the  dignity  of  thirteen 
years  close  upon  her,  was  more  than  she  could  bear.  Lock 
ing  herself  into  her  small  room,  she  flung  herself  on  her  knees 
and  with  a  passion  of  tears  prayed  that  God  would  help  her. 

"Dear  God,"  she  cried,  "just  pity  me  and  show  me  what 
to  do.  Please!"  Her  entreaty  was  that  of  the  child  who 
has  perfect  confidence  in  the  Father  to  whom  she  is  speaking. 
"Help  me  to  help  my  mother.  If  you  will,  I'll  never  say  'No!' 
to  any  woman  who  comes  to  me  all  my  life  long!" 

In  her  story  of  her  life,  which  the  young  person  wrote 
many  years  later,  she  says,  in  telling  of  that  agonized  plea: 
"  My  error  in  trying  to  barter  with  my  Maker  must  have  been 
forgiven,  for  my  prayer  was  answered  within  a  week.  ... 
I  have  tried  faithfully  to  keep  my  part  of  the  bargain,  for 
no  woman  who  has  ever  sought  my  aid  has  ever  been  an 
swered  with  a  'No!"3 

Somewhat  relieved  at  having  made  known  her  longing 

236 


CLARA  MORRIS 

to  Some  One  whom  she  believed  would  understand  and  surely 
help,  the  young  person  went  through  the  dreary  routine  of 
boarding-house  days  more  cheerfully,  to  her  mother's  joy. 
And  at  night,  when  she  lay  tossing  and  trying  to  sleep 
despite  the  scorching  heat,  she  seemed  to  be  reviewing  the 
thirteen  years  of  her  existence  as  if  she  were  getting  ready 
to  pigeon-hole  the  past,  to  make  ready  for  a  fuller  future. 

With  clear  distinctness  she  remembered  having  been  told 
by  her  mother,  in  the  manner  of  old-fashioned  tellers,  that, 
"Once  upon  a  time,  in  the  Canadian  city  of  Toronto,  in  the 
year  1849,  on  the  I7th  of  March — the  day  of  celebrating  the 
birth  of  good  old  St.  Patrick,  in  a  quiet  house  not  far  from 
the  sound  of  the  marching  paraders,  the  rioting  of  revelers 
and  the  blare  of  brass  bands,  a  young  person  was  born." 
Memory  carried  on  the  story,  as  she  lay  there  in  the  dark, 
still  hours  of  the  night,  and  she  repeated  to  herself  the  oft- 
told  tale  of  those  few  months  she  and  her  mother  spent  in 
the  Canadian  city  before  they  journeyed  back  to  the  United 
States,  where  in  Cleveland  the  mother  tried  many  different 
kinds  of  occupations  by  which  to  support  the  child  and  her 
self.  It  was  a  strange  life  the  young  person  remembered  in 
those  early  days.  She  and  her  mother  had  to  flit  so  often — 
suddenly,  noiselessly.  Often  she  remembered  being  roused 
from  a  sound  sleep,  sometimes  being  simply  wrapped  up 
without  being  dressed,  and  carried  through  the  dark  to 
some  other  place  of  refuge.  Then,  too,  when  other  children 
walked  in  the  streets  or  played,  bare-headed  or  only  with  hat 
on,  she  wore  a  tormenting  and  heavy  veil  over  her  face. 
At  an  early  age  she  began  to  notice  that  if  a  strange  lady 
spoke  to  her  the  mother  seemed  pleased,  but  if  a  man  noticed 
her  she  looked  frightened,  and  hurried  her  away  as  fast  as 
possible.  At  first  this  was  all  a  mystery  to  the  child,  but 
later  she  understood  that  the  great  fear  in  her  mother's 
eyes,  and  the  hasty  flights,  were  all  to  be  traced  to  a  father 

237 


TEN  AMERICAN  GIRLS   FROM  HISTORY 

who  had  not  been  good  to  the  brave  mother,  and  so  she  had 
taken  her  little  girl  and  fled  from  him.  But  he  always  found 
her  and  begged  for  the  child.  Only  too  well  the  young  per 
son  remembered  some  of  those  scenes  of  frantic  appeal  on  the 
father's  side,  of  angry  refusal  by  her  mother,  followed  always 
by  another  hasty  retreat  to  some  new  place  of  concealment. 
At  last — never-to-be  forgotten  day — there  was  a  vivid  recol 
lection  of  the  time  when  the  father  asserted  brutally  that 
"he  would  make  life  a  misery  to  her  until  she  gave  up  the 
child" — that  "by  fair  means  or  foul  he  would  gain  his  end." 
Soon  afterward  he  did  kidnap  the  young  person,  but  the 
mother  was  too  quick  for  him,  and  almost  immediately  her 
child  was  in  her  own  arms  again. 

This  necessary  habit  of  concealment,  and  also  the  mother's 
need  to  earn  her  own  living,  made  life  anything  but  an  easy 
matter  for  them  both.  The  mother's  terror  lest  her  child  be 
taken  from  her  again  made  her  fear  to  allow  the  little  girl 
to  walk  out  alone,  even  for  a  short  distance,  and  in  such 
positions  as  the  older  woman  was  able  to  secure,  it  was  al 
ways  with  the  promise  that  the  child  should  be  no  nuisance. 
And  so  the  young  person  grew  up  in  a  habit  of  self-efface 
ment,  and  of  sitting  quietly  in  corners  where  she  could  not 
be  seen  or  heard,  instead  of  playing  with  other  children  of 
her  own  age.  Then  came  a  great  hope,  which  even  as  she 
lay  in  bed  and  thought  about  it,  brought  the  tears  to  her 
eyes,  she  had  so  longed  to  have  it  come  true. 

When  she  was  six  years  old,  she  and  her  mother  had  been 
living  in  a  boarding-house  in  Cleveland,  where  there  was  a 
good-natured  actress  boarding,  who  took  such  a  fancy  to 
the  shy  little  girl  who  was  always  sitting  in  a  corner  reading  a 
book,  that  one  day  she  approached  the  astonished  mother 
with  a  proposition  to  adopt  her  daughter.  Seeing  surprise 
on  the  mother's  face,  she  frankly  told  of  her  position,  her  in 
come  and  her  intention  to  give  the  girl  a  fine  education.  She 

238 


CLARA  MORRIS 

thought  a  convent  school  would  be  desirable,  from  then,  say, 
until  the  young  person  was  seventeen. 

The  mother  was  really  tempted  by  the  offer  of  a  good 
education,  which  she  saw  no  way  to  give  her  daughter,  and 
might  have  accepted  it  if  the  actress  had  not  added: 

"When  she  reaches  the  age  of  seventeen,  I  will  place  her 
on  the  stage." 

That  ended  the  matter.  The  mother  was  horror-stricken, 
and  could  hardly  make  her  refusal  clear  and  decided  enough. 
Even  when  her  employer  tried  to  make  her  see  that  by  her 
refusal  she  might  be  doing  her  daughter  a  great  injustice,  she 
said,  sharply:  "It  would  be  better  for  her  to  starve  trying  to 
lead  an  honorable  life,  than  to  be  exposed  to  such  publicity 
and  such  awful  temptations."  And  thus,  in  ignorance  of 
what  the  future  had  in  store  for  her  child,  did  she  close  the 
door  on  a  golden  opportunity  for  developing  her  greatest 
talent,  and  the  young  person's  first  dream  of  freedom  and  a 
fascinating  career  had  come  to  grief.  As  she  reviewed  her 
disappointment  and  the  dreary  days  that  followed,  a  flood 
of  self-pity  welled  up  in  the  girl's  heart,  and  she  felt  as  if 
she  must  do  something  desperate  to  quiet  her  restless  nature. 

Fortunately  the  disappointment  was  followed  by  a  wel 
come  change  of  scene,  for  mother  and  daughter  left  Cleveland 
and  went  to  try  their  fortunes  in  what  was  then  "the  far 
west."  After  a  long  trip  by  rail  and  a  thirty-mile  drive 
across  the  prairie,  they  arrived  at  their  journey's  end,  and 
the  marvelous  quiet  of  the  early  May  night  in  the  country 
soothed  the  older  woman's  sore  heart  and  filled  the  child  with 
the  joy  of  a  real  adventure. 

They  remained  in  that  beautiful  world  beyond  the  prairie 
for  two  years,  and  never  did  the  charm  of  the  backwoods's 
life  pall  on  the  growing  girl,  who  did  not  miss  the  city  sights 
and  sounds,  but  exulted  in  the  new  experiences  as,  "with  the 
other  children  on  the  farm,  she  dropped  corn  in  the  sun- 

239 


TEN  AMERICAN  GIRLS  FROM  HISTORY 

warmed  furrows,  while  a  man  followed  behind  with  a  hoe 
covering  it  up;  and  when  it  had  sprouted  and  was  a  tempting 
morsel  for  certain  black  robbers  of  the  field,  she  made  a  very 
active  and  energetic  young  scarecrow." 

While  the  out-of-door  life  was  a  fine  thing  for  the  young 
person,  still  more  to  her  advantage  was  it  that  she  was  now 
thrown  with  other  children,  who  were  happy,  hearty,  rol 
licking  youngsters,  and,  seeing  that  the  stranger  was  new  to 
farm-life,  had  rare  fun  at  her  expense.  For  instance,  as  she 
later  told : 

"They  led  me  forth  to  a  pasture,  shortly  after  our  arrival 
at  the  farm,  and,  catching  a  horse,  they  hoisted  me  up  on  to 
its  bare,  slippery  back.  I  have  learned  a  good  bit  about 
horses  since  then,"  she  says,  "have  hired,  borrowed  and 
bought  them,  but  never  since  have  I  seen  a  horse  of  such 
appalling  aspect.  His  eyes  were  the  size  of  soup-plates, 
large  clouds  of  smoke  came  from  his  nostrils.  He  had  a 
glass-enamelled  surface,  and  if  he  was  half  as  tall  as  he  felt, 
some  museum  manager  missed  a  fortune.  Then  the  young 
fiends,  leaving  me  on  my  slippery  perch,  high  up  near  the  sky, 
drew  afar  off  and  stood  against  the  fence,  and  gave  me  plenty 
of  room  to  fall  off.  But  when  I  suddenly  felt  the  world 
heave  up  beneath  me,  I  uttered  a  wild  shriek — clenched  my 
hands  in  the  animal's  black  hair  and,  madly  flinging  pro 
priety  to  any  point  of  the  compass  that  happened  to  be 
behind  me,  I  cast  one  pantalette  over  the  enameled  back, 
and  thus  astride  safely  crossed  the  pasture — and  lo,  it  was 
not  I  who  fell,  but  their  faces  instead !  When  they  came  to 
take  me  down  somehow  the  animal  seemed  shrunken,  and  I 
hesitated  about  leaving  it,  whereupon  the  biggest  boy  said  I 
had  'pluck/  I  had  been  frightened  nearly  to  death,  but 
I  always  could  be  silent  at  the  proper  moment;  I  was  silent 
then,  and  he  would  teach  me  to  ride  sideways,  for  my  mother 
would  surely  punish  me  if  I  sat  astride  like  that.  In  a  few 

240 


CLARA  MORRIS 

weeks,  thanks  to  him,  I  was  the  one  who  was  oftenest  trusted 
to  take  the  horses  to  water  at  noon,  riding  sideways  and  al 
ways  bare-back,  mounted  on  one  horse  and  leading  a  second 
to  the  creek,  until  all  had  had  their  drink.  Which  habit 
of  riding — from  balance — "  the  young  person  adds,  "has 
made  me  quite  independent  of  stirrups  since  those  far-away 
days." 

Besides  the  riding,  there  were  many  other  delightful  pas 
times  which  were  a  part  of  life  on  the  farm,  and  on  rainy 
days,  when  the  children  could  not  play  out  of  doors,  they 
would  flock  to  the  big  barn,  and  listen  eagerly  to  stories  told 
by  the  city  girl,  who  had  read  them  in  books.  Two  precious 
years  passed  all  too  swiftly  on  the  farm,  and  the  young  per 
son  was  fast  shooting  up  into  a  tall,  slender  girl,  who  had 
learned  a  love  of  nature  in  all  its  forms,  which  never  left  her. 
She  had  also  grown  stronger,  which  satisfied  her  mother 
that  the  experiment  had  been  successful.  But  now  there 
was  education  to  be  thought  of,  and  when  news  came  of 
the  death  of  that  father,  who  had  been  the  haunting 
specter  of  the  mother's  life,  they  went  back  at  once  to  Cleve 
land,  where  the  mother  obtained  employment,  and  the 
growing  daughter  was  sent  to  a  public  school.  But  at  best  it 
gave  a  meager  course  of  study  to  one  who  had  always  been  a 
reader  of  every  book  on  which  she  could  lay  her  hands. 
To  make  the  dreary,  daily  routine  less  tiresome,  she  supple 
mented  it  by  a  series  of  "thinks".  These  usually  took 
place  at  night  after  her  candle  had  been  blown  out,  and  the 
young  person  generally  fell  asleep  in  a  white  robe  and  a  crown 
of  flowers,  before  she  had  gathered  up  all  the  prizes  and 
diplomas  and  things  she  had  earned  in  the  world  of  reverie, 
where  her  dream  self  had  been  roving. 

And  now  came  the  approach  of  her  thirteenth  birthday, 
and  her  plea  that  she  might  be  made  more  useful  in  the 
world.  And  then,  came  this: 

241 


TEN  AMERICAN  GIRLS   FROM   HISTORY 

In  the  boarding-house  where  she  and  her  mother  were 
living,  the  mother  acting  as  assistant  to  the  manager,  the 
young  person  occupied  with  enduring  her  monotonous  exist 
ence  and  with  watching  the  boarders,  there  were  two  ac 
tresses,  a  mother  and  daughter.  The  daughter,  whose  name 
was  Blanche,  was  only  a  year  or  two  older  than  the  young 
person  whose  eyes  followed  her  so  eagerly,  because  Blanche 
was  one  of  those  marvelous  creatures  whose  real  life  was 
lived  behind  the  foot-lights. 

Something  in  the  silent,  keen-eyed  girl  who  was  so  near 
her  own  age  attracted  Blanche,  and  the  two  became  good 
friends,  spending  many  an  hour  together  when  the  young 
person  was  not  in  school.  In  exchange  for  her  thrilling 
stories  of  stage  life,  Blanche's  new  friend  would  tell  vivid 
tales  which  she  had  read  in  books,  to  all  of  which  good- 
natured  Blanche  would  listen  with  lazy  interest,  and  at  the 
finish  of  the  narrative  often  exclaimed: 

"You  ought  to  be  in  a  theater.     You  could  act!" 

Although  this  assertion  was  always  met  by  determined 
silence,  as  her  friend  thought  she  was  being  made  fun  of,  yet 
the  young  person  did  not  fail  to  brood  over  the  statement 
when  she  was  alone.  Could  there  be  any  truth  in  the 
statement,  she  wondered?  Then  came  a  marvelous  event. 
Blanche  hurried  home  from  the  theater  one  day  to  tell  her 
young  friend  that  extra  ballet  girls  were  wanted  in  their 
company.  She  must  go  at  once  and  get  engaged. 

"But,"  gasped  the  young  person,  "maybe  they  won't  take 
me!" 

"Well,  answered  Blanche,  "I've  coaxed  your  mother,  and 
my  mother  says  she'll  look  out  for  you — so  at  any  rate,  go 
and  see.  I'll  take  you  to-morrow." 

To-morrow!  "Dimly  the  agitated  and  awed  young  per 
son  seemed  to  see  a  way  opening  out  before  her,  and  again 
behind  her  locked  door  she  knelt  down  and  said  'Dear  God! 

242 


CLARA  MORRIS 

Dear  God!*  and  got  no  further,  because  grief  has  so  many 
words,  and  joy  has  so  few." 

That  was  Friday,  and  the  school  term  had  closed  that  day. 
The  next  morning,  with  a  heart  beating  almost  to  suffoca 
tion,  the  young  person  found  herself  on  the  way  to  the 
theater,  with  self-possessed  Blanche,  who  led  the  way  to  the 
old  Academy  of  Music.  Entering  the  building,  the  girls 
went  up-stairs,  and  as  they  reached  the  top  step  Blanche 
called  to  a  small,  dark  man  who  was  hurrying  across  the  hall: 

"Oh,  Mr.  Ellsler — wait  a  moment,  please — I  want  to 
speak  to  you." 

The  man  stopped,  but  with  an  impatient  frown,  for  as  he 
himself  afterward  said  in  relating  the  story: 

"I  was  much  put  out  about  a  business  matter,  and  was 
hastily  crossing  the  corridor  when  Blanche  called  me,  and  I 
saw  she  had  another  girl  in  tow,  a  girl  whose  appearance  in  a 
theater  was  so  droll  I  must  have  laughed  had  I  not  been 
more  than  a  little  cross.  Her  dress  was  quite  short — she 
wore  a  pale-blue  apron  buttoned  up  the  back,  long  braids 
tied  at  the  ends  with  ribbons,  and  a  brown  straw  hat,  while 
she  clutched  desperately  at  the  handle  of  the  biggest  um 
brella  I  ever  saw.  Her  eyes  were  distinctly  blue  and  big 
with  fright.  Blanche  gave  her  name,  and  said  she  wanted 
to  go  in  the  ballet.  I  instantly  answered  that  she  was  too 
small — I  wanted  women,  not  children.  Blanche  was  voluble, 
but  the  girl  herself  never  spoke  a  single  word.  I  glanced 
toward  her  and  stopped.  The  hands  that  clutched  the  um 
brella  trembled — she  raised  her  eyes  and  looked  at  me.  I 
had  noticed  their  blueness  a  moment  before,  now  they  were 
almost  black,  so  swiftly  had  their  pupils  dilated,  and  slowly 
the  tears  rose  in  them.  All  the  father  in  me  shrank  under 
the  child's  bitter  disappointment;  all  the  actor  in  me  thrilled 
at  the  power  of  expression  in  the  girl's  face,  and  I  hastily 
added: 

17  243 


TEN  AMERICAN  GIRLS  FROM  HISTORY 

"Oh,  well,  you  may  come  back  in  a  day  or  two,  and  if 
any  one  appears  meantime  who  is  short  enough  to  march  with 
you,  I'll  take  you  on."  Not  until  I  had  reached  my  office 
did  I  remember  that  the  girl  had  not  spoken  a  single  word, 
but  had  won  an  engagement — for  I  knew  I  should  engage  her 
— with  a  pair  of  tear-filled  eyes." 

As  a  result  of  his  half-promise,  three  days  later,  the  young 
person  again  presented  herself  at  the  theater,  and  was  en 
gaged  for  the  term  of  two  weeks  to  go  on  the  stage  in  the 
marches  and  dances  of  a  play  called  "The  Seven  Sisters," 
for  which  she  was  to  receive  the  large  sum  of  fifty  cents  a 
night.  She,  who  was  later  to  be  known  as  one  of  the  great 
emotional  actresses  of  her  day,  whose  name  was  to  be  on 
every  lip  where  the  finest  in  dramatic  art  was  appreciated, 
had  begun  to  mount  the  ladder  toward  fame  and  fortune. 

Very  curiously  and  cautiously  she  picked  her  way  around 
the  stage  at  first,  looking  at  the  scenes,  so  fine  on  one  side, 
so  bare  and  cheap  on  the  other;  at  the  tarletan  "glass  win 
dows,"  at  the  green  calico  sea  lying  flat  and  waveless  on  the 
floor.  At  last  she  asked  Blanche: 

"Is  everything  only  make-believe  in  a  theater?" 

And  Blanche,  with  the  indifference  of  her  lackadaisical 
nature  answered,  "Yes,  everything's  make-believe,  except 
salary  day." 

Then  came  the  novice's  first  rehearsal,  which  included  a 
Zouave  drill  to  learn,  as  well  as  a  couple  of  dances.  She  went 
through  her  part  with  keen  relish  and  learned  the  drill  so 
quickly  that  on  the  second  day  she  sat  watching  the  others, 
while  they  struggled  to  learn  the  movements.  As  she  sat 
watching  the  star  came  along  and  angrily  demanded, 
"Why  are  you  not  drilling  with  the  rest?" 

"The  gentleman  sent  me  out  of  the  ranks,  sir,"  she  an 
swered,  "because  he  said  I  knew  the  manual  and  the  drill." 

The  star  refused  to  believe  this  and,  catching  up  a  rifle,  he 

244 


CLARA  MORRIS 

cried:  "Here,  take  hold,  and  let's  see  how  much  you  know. 
Now,  then,  shoulder  arms!" 

Standing  alone,  burning  with  blushes,  blinded  with  tears 
of  mortification,  she  was  put  through  her  paces,  but  she 
really  did  know  the  drill,  and  it  was  no  small  reward  for  her 
misery  when  her  persecutor  took  the  rifle  from  her  and 
exclaimed: 

"Well,  saucer-eyes,  you  do  know  it!  I'm  sorry,  little  girl, 
I  spoke  so  roughly  to  you!"  Holding  out  his  hand  to  her,  he 
added,  "You  ought  to  stay  in  this  business — you've  got  your 
head  with  you!" 

Stay  in  it!  The  question  was  would  the  manager  want 
her  when  the  fatal  night  of  her  first  stage  appearance  had 
come  and  gone! 

In  those  days  of  rehearsals,  costumes  were  one  of  her  most 
vital  interests;  for  a  ballet  girl's  dress  is  most  important,  as 
there  is  so  little  of  it,  that  it  must  be  perfect  of  its  kind.  The 
ballet  of  which  the  young  person  was  now  a  member  were 
supposed  to  be  fairies  in  one  dance.  For  the  second  act  they 
wore  dancing-skirts,  and  for  the  Zouave  drill,  they  wore  the 
regular  Fire  Zouave  uniform. 

At  last,  the  first  performance  of  the  play  came.  It  was  a 
very  hot  night,  and  so  crowded  was  the  tiny  dressing-room 
occupied  by  the  ballet  corps,  that  some  of  the  girls  had  to 
stand  on  the  one  chair  while  they  put  their  skirts  on.  The 
confusion  was  great,  and  the  new-comer  dressed  as  quickly 
as  possible,  escaped  down-stairs,  and  showed  herself  to 
Blanche  and  her  mother,  to  see  if  her  make-up  was  all  right. 

To  her  surprise,  after  a  moment  of  tense  silence  they  both 
burst  into  loud  laughter,  their  eyes  staring  into  her  face.  In 
telling  of  that  night  later,  she  said;  "I  knew  you  had  to  put 
on  powder,  because  the  gas  made  you  yellow,  and  red  because 
the  powder  made  you  ghastly,  but  it  had  not  occurred  to  me 
that  skill  was  required  in  applying  the  same,  and  I  was  a 

245 


TEN  AMERICAN  GIRLS   FROM  HISTORY 

sight  to  make  any  kindly  disposed  angel  weep!  I  had  not 
even  sense  enough  to  free  my  eyelashes  from  the  powder 
clinging  to  them.  My  face  was  chalk  white,  and  low  down 
on  my  cheeks  were  nice  round,  bright  red  spots. 

"Mrs.  Bradshaw  said:  'With  your  round  blue  eyes  and 
your  round  white  and  red  face,  you  look  like  a  cheap  china 
doll.  Come  here,  my  dear!' 

"She  dusted  off  a  few  thicknesses  of  the  powder,  removed 
the  hard  red  spots,  and  while  she  worked  she  remarked; 
'To-morrow,  after  you  have  walked  to  get  a  color,  go  to  your 
glass  and  see  where  the  color  shows  itself.  ...  Of  course, 
when  you  are  making  up  for  a  character  part  you  go  by  a 
different  rule,  but  when  you  are  just  trying  to  look  pretty, 
be  guided  by  Nature.'  As  she  talked,  I  felt  the  soft  touch 
of  a  hare's  foot  on  my  burning  cheeks  and  she  continued  her 
work  until  my  face  was  as  it  should  be  to  make  the  proper 
effect. 

"That  lesson  was  the  beginning  and  the  ending  of  my 
theatrical  instruction.  What  I  learned  later  was  learned  by 
observation,  study,  and  direct  inquiry — but  never  by  in 
struction,  either  free  or  paid  for." 

And  now  the  moment  of  stage  entry  had  arrived.  "One 
act  of  the  play  represented  the  back  of  a  stage  during  a  per 
formance.  The  scenes  were  turned  around  with  their  un- 
painted  sides  to  the  audience.  The  scene-shifters  and  gas 
men  were  standing  about;  everything  was  supposed  to  be 
going  up.  The  manager  was  giving  orders  wildly,  and  then  a 
dancer  was  late.  She  was  called  frantically,  and  finally, 
when  she  appeared  on  the  run,  the  manager  caught  her  by 
the  shoulders,  rushed  her  across  the  stage,  and  fairly  pitched 
her  onto  the  imaginary  stage,  to  the  great  amusement  of  the 
audience.  The  tallest  and  prettiest  girl  in  the  ballet  had 
been  picked  out  to  do  this  bit  of  work,  and  she  had  been  re 
hearsed  day  after  day  with  the  greatest  care  for  the  small  part. 

246 


CLARA  MORRIS 

"  All  were  gathered  together  ready  for  their  first  entrance 
and  dance,  which  followed  a  few  moments  after  the  scene 
already  described.  The  tall  girl  had  a  queer  look  on  her 
face  as  she  stood  in  her  place;  her  cue  came,  but  she  never 
moved. 

"I  heard  the  rushing  footsteps  of  the  stage-manager; 
*  That's  you/  he  shouted;  'Go  on!  Go  on!  Run!  Run!' 
Run?  She  seemed  to  have  grown  fast  to  the  floor.  .  .  . 

"'Are  you  going  on?'  cried  the  frantic  prompter. 

She  dropped  her  arms  limply  at  her  sides  and  whispered; 
"'I— I— c-a-n't.' 

"He  turned,  and  as  he  ran  his  imploring  eye  over  the  line  of 
faces,  each  girl  shrank  back  from  it.  He  reached  me.  I  had 
no  fear,  and  he  saw  it. 

"  'Can  you  go  on  there?'  he  cried.     I  nodded. 

"  'Then  for  God's  sake  go— go!' 

" '  I  gave  a  bound  and  a  lush  that  carried  me  half  across  the 
stage  before  the  manager  caught  me,  and  so,  I  made  my 
first  entrance  on  the  stage,  and  danced  and  marched  and 
sang  with  the  rest,  and  all  unconsciously  took  my  first 
sted  on  the  path  that  I  was  to  follow  through  shadow 
and  through  sunshine — to  follow  by  steep  and  stony  places, 
over  threatening  bogs,  through  green  and  pleasant  meadows 
— to  follow  steadily  and  faithfully  for  many  and  many  a 
year  to  come." 

To  the  surprise  of  every  one,  when  salary  day  came  around 
the  new  ballet  girl  did  not  go  to  claim  her  week's  pay.  Even 
on  the  second  she  was  the  last  one  to  appear  at  the  box- 
office  window.  Mr.  Ellsler  himself  was  there,  and  he  opened 
the  door  and  asked  her  to  come  in.  As  she  signed  her  name, 
she  paused  so  noticeably  that  he  laughed,  and  said,  "Don't 
you  know  your  own  name?" 

The  fact  was,  on  the  first  day  of  rehearsal,  when  the  stage- 
manager  had  taken  down  all  names,  he  called  out  to  the 

247 


TEN  AMERICAN  GIRLS  FROM  HISTORY 

latest  comer,  who  was  staring  at  the  scenery  and  did  not 
hear  him: 

"Little  girl,  what  is  your  name?" 

Some  one  standing  near  him  volunteered:  "Her  name  is 
Clara  Morris,  or  Morrissey  or  Morrison,  or  something  like 
that."  At  once  he  had  written  down  Morris — dropping  the 
last  syllable  from  her  rightful  name.  So  when  Mr.  Elisler 
asked,  "Don't  you  know  your  name?"  it  was  the  moment  to 
have  set  the  matter  straight,  but  the  young  person  was  far 
too  shy.  She  made  no  reply,  but  signed  up  and  received 
two  weeks'  salary  as  Clara  Morris,  by  which  name  she  was 
known  ever  afterward. 

In  her  story  of  life  on  the  stage,  she  says,  "After  having 
gratefully  accepted  my  two  weeks'  earnings,  Mr.  Elisler 
asked  me  why  I  had  not  come  the  week  before.  I  told  him  I 
preferred  to  wait  because  it  would  seem  so  much  more  if  I 
got  both  weeks'  salary  all  at  one  time.  He  nodded  gravely, 
and  said,  'It  was  rather  a  large  sum  to  have  in  hand  at  one 
time,'  and  though  I  was  very  sensitive  to  ridicule,  I  did  not 
suspect  him  of  making  fun  of  me.  Then  he  said : 

"'You  are  a  very  intelligent  little  girl,  and  when  you  went 
on  alone  and  unrehearsed  the  other  night,  you  proved  you 
had  both  adaptability  and  courage.  I'd  like  to  keep  you  in 
the  theater.  Will  you  come  and  be  a  regular  member  of  the 
company  for  the  season  that  begins  in  September  next?' 

"I  think  it  must  have  been  my  ears  that  stopped  my 
ever-widening  smile,  while  I  made  answer  that  I  must  ask 
my  mother  first. 

"To  be  sure,'  said  he,  'to  be  sure!'  Well,  suppose  you 
ask  her  then,  and  let  me  know  whether  you  can  or  not.' ' 

She  says,  "Looking  back  and  speaking  calmly,  I  must 
admit  that  I  do  not  now  believe  Mr.  Ellsler's  financial  future 
depended  entirely  upon  the  yes  or  no  of  my  mother  and  my 
self;  but  that  I  was  on  an  errand  of  life  or  death  every  one 

248 


CLARA  MORRIS 

must  have  thought  who  saw  me  tearing  through  the  streets 
on  that  ninety-in-the-shade  day.  .  .  .  One  man  ran  out 
hatless  and  coatless  and  looked  anxiously  up  the  street  in 
the  direction  from  which  I  came.  A  big  boy  on  the  corner 
yelled  after  me:  'Sa-ay,  sis,  where's  the  fire?'  But,  you  see 
they  did  not  know  that  I  was  carrying  home  my  first  real 
earnings,  that  I  was  clutching  -six  damp  one-dollar  bills  in 
the  hands  that  had  been  so  empty  all  my  life! 

"I  had  meant  to  take  off  my  hat  and  smooth  my  hair,  and 
with  a  proper  little  speech  approach  my  mother,  and  then 
hand  her  the  money.  But  alas!  as  I  rushed  into  the  house  I 
came  upon  her  unexpectedly,  for,  fearing  dinner  was  going 
to  be  late,  she  was  hurrying  things  by  shelling  a  great  basket 
of  peas  as  she  sat  by  the  dining-room  window.  At  sight  of 
her  tired  face  all  my  nicely  planned  speech  disappeared. 
I  flung  my  arm  about  her  neck,  dropped  the  bills  on  top  of 
the  empty  pods  and  cried: 

"  'Oh,  mother,  that's  mine  and  it's  all  yours!' 
"She  kissed  me,  but  to  my  grieved  amazement  put  the 
money  back  into  my  hand  and  said,  'No,  you  have  earned 
this  money  yourself — you  are  to  do  with  it  exactly  as  you 
please.'" 

And  that  was  why,  the  next  morning,  a  much-excited  and 
very  rich  young  person  took  a  journey  to  the  stores,  and  as  a 
result  bought  a  lavender-flowered  muslin  dress  which,  when 
paid  for,  had  made  quite  a  large  hole  in  the  six  dollars.  By 
her  expression  and  manner  she  plainly  showed  how  proud 
and  happy  she  was  to  be  buying  a  dress  for  the  mother  who 
for  thirteen  years  had  been  doing  and  buying  for  two. 
"Undoubtedly,"  says  Miss  Morris,  "had  there  been  a  fire 
just  then  I  would  have  risked  my  life  to  save  that  flowered 
muslin  gown." 

Up  to  that  time,  the  only  world  Clara  Morris  had  known 
had  been  narrow  and  sordid,  and  lay  chill  under  the  shadow 

249 


TEN  AMERICAN  GIRLS   FROM  HISTORY 

of  poverty.  .  .  .  Now,  standing  humbly  at  the  knee  of 
Shakespeare,  she  began  to  learn  something  of  another  world 
—fairy-like  in  fascination,  marvelous  in  reality.  A  world  of 
sunny  days  and  jeweled  nights,  of  splendid  palaces,  caves, 
of  horrors,  forests  of  mystery,  and  meadows  of  smiling  can 
dor.  All  people,  too,  with  such  soldiers,  statesmen,  lovers, 
clowns,  such  women  of  splendid  honor,  fierce  ambition, 
thistle-down  lightness,  as  makes  the  heart  beat  fast  to 
think  of. 

That  was  the  era  of  Shakesperian  performances,  and  out 
of  twenty-eight  stars  who  played  with  the  support  of  Mr. 
Ellsler's  company,  eighteen  acted  in  the  famous  classic  plays. 
All  stars  played  a  week's  engagement,  some  two,  so  at  least 
half  of  the  season  of  forty-two  weeks  was  given  over  to 
Shakespeare's  plays,  and  every  actor  and  actress  had  his 
lines  at  their  tongues'  tips,  while  there  were  endless  discus 
sions  about  the  best  rendering  of  famous  passages. 

"I  well  remember,"  says  Miss  Morris,  "my  first  step  into 
theatrical  controversy.  'Macbeth'  was  being  rehearsed, 
and  the  star  had  just  exclaimed:  'Hang  out  our  banners  on 
the  outward  walls!'  That  was  enough — argument  was  on. 
It  grew  animated.  Some  were  for:  'Hang  out  our  banners! 
On  the  outward  walls  the  cry  is  still,  they  come!'  while  one 
or  two  were  with  the  star's  reading. 

"I  stood  listening,  and  looking  on,  and  fairly  sizzling  with 
hot  desire  to  speak,  but  dared  not  take  the  liberty.  Pres 
ently  an  actor,  noticing  my  eagerness,  laughingly  said: 

"'Well,  what  is  it,  Clara?  You'll  have  a  fit  if  you  don't 
ease  your  mind  with  speech.' 

'  'Oh,  Uncle  Dick,'  I  answered,  my  words  fairly  tripping 
over  one  another  in  my  haste,  'I  have  a  picture  home,  I  cut 
out  of  a  paper;  it's  a  picture  of  a  great  castle  with  towers  and 
moats  and  things,  and  on  the  outer  walls  are  men  with  spears 
and  shields,  and  they  seem  to  be  looking  for  the  enemy,  and, 

250 


CLARA  MORRIS 

Uncle  Dick,  the  banner  is  floating  over  the  high  tower!  So, 
don't  you  think  it  ought  to  be  read:  "Hang  out  our  banners! 
On  the  outward  walls" — the  outward  wall,  you  know,  is 
where  the  lookouts  are  standing — "the  cry  is  still,  they 
corneP5' 

"A  general  laugh  followed  my  excited  explanation,  but 
Uncle  Dick  patted  me  on  the  shoulder  and  said: 

'  'Good  girl,  you  stick  to  your  picture — it's  right,  and  so 
are  you.  Many  people  read  that  line  that  way,  but  you  have 
worked  it  out  for  yourself,  and  that's  a  good  plan  to  follow. 

"And,"  says  Miss  Morris,  "I  swelled  and  swelled,  it 
seemed  to  me,  I  was  so  proud  of  the  gentle  old  man's  approv 
al.  But  that  same  night  I  came  woefully  to  grief.  I  had 
been  one  of  the  crowd  of  'witches.'  Later,  being  off  duty,  I 
was,  as  usual,  planted  in  the  entrance,  watching  the  acting 
of  the  grown-ups  and  grown-greats.  Lady  Macbeth  was 
giving  the  sleep-walking  scene,  in  a  way  that  jarred  upon  my 
feelings.  I  could  not  have  told  why,  but  it  did.  I  believed 
myself  alone,  and  when  the  memory-haunted  woman  roared 
out: 

"'Yet  who  would  have  thought  the  old  man  to  have  had 
so  much  blood  in  him?'  I  remarked,  under  my  breath.  'Did 
you  expect  to  find  ink  in  him  ?' 

"A  sharp  'ahem5  right  at  my  shoulder  told  me  I  had  been 
overheard,  and  I  turned  to  face — oh,  horror!  the  stage- 
manager.  He  glared  angrily  at  me  and  demanded  my  ideas 
on  the  speech,  which  in  sheer  desperation  at  last  I  gave, 
saying: 

"'I  thought  Lady  Macbeth  was  amazed  at  the  quantity  of 
blood  that  flowed  from  the  body  of  such  an  old  man — for 
when  you  get  old,  you  know,  sir,  you  don't  have  so  much 
blood  as  you  used  to,  and  I  only  thought  that,  as  the  "sleep 
ing  men  were  laced,  and  the  knives  smeared  and  her  hands 
bathed  with  it,"  she  might  perhaps  have  whispered.  "Yet 

251 


TEN  AMERICAN  GIRLS  FROM  HISTORY 

who  would  have  thought  the  old  man  to  have  so  much  blood 
in  him?"1  I  didn't  mean  an  impertinence.  Down  fell  the 
tears,  for  I  could  not  talk  and  hold  them  back  at  the  same 
time. 

"He  looked  at  me  in  dead  silence  for  a  few  moments,  then 
he  said:  'Humph!'  and  walked  away,  while  I  rushed  to  the 
dressing-room  and  cried  and  cried,  and  vowed  that  never, 
never  again  would  I  talk  to  myself — in  the  theater,  at  all 
events. 

"Only  a  short  time  afterward  I  had  a  proud  moment  when 
I  was  allowed  to  go  on  as  the  longest  witch  in  the  caldron 
scene  in  'Macbeth/  Perhaps  I  might  have  come  to  grief 
over  it  had  I  not  overheard  the  leading  man  say:  'That 
child  will  never  speak  those  lines  in  the  world!'  And  the 
leading  man  was  six  feet  tall  and  handsome,  and  I  was  thir 
teen  and  a  half  years  old,  and  to  be  called  a  child! 

"I  was  in  a  secret  rage,  and  I  went  over  and  over  my  lines 
at  all  hours,  under  all  circumstances,  so  that  nothing  should 
be  able  to  frighten  me  at  night.  And  then,  with  my  paste 
board  crown  and  white  sheet  and  petticoat,  I  boiled  up  in 
the  caldron  and  gave  my  lines  well  enough  for  the  manager 
to  say  low: 

"  'Good!  Good!'  and  the  leading  man  next  night  asked  me 
to  take  care  of  his  watch  and  chain  during  his  combat 
scene,  and,"  says  Miss  Morris,  "my  pride  of  bearing  was 
unseemly,  and  the  other  girls  loved  me  not  at  all,  for,  you 
see,  they,  too,  knew  he  was  six  feet  tall  and  handsome." 

The  theatrical  company  of  which  Clara  Morris  had  become 
a  member  was  what  was  called  by  the  profession,  a  "family 
theater,"  in  which  the  best  parts  are  apt  to  be  absorbed  by 
the  manager  and  his  family,  while  all  the  poor  ones  are 
placed  with  strict  justice  where  they  belong.  At  that  time, 
outside  of  the  star  who  was  being  supported,  men  and 
women  were  engaged  each  for  a  special  line  of  business,  to 

252 


CLARA  MORRIS 

which  "line"  they  were  strictly  kept.  However  much  the 
"family  theater"  was  disliked  by  her  comrades  in  the  pro 
fession,  it  was  indeed  an  ideal  place  for  a  young  girl  to  begin 
her  stage  life  in.  The  manager,  Mr.  Ellsler,  was  an  excellent 
character  actor;  his  wife,  Mrs.  Ellsler,  was  his  leading 
woman — his  daughter,  Effie,  though  not  out  of  school  at  that 
time,  acted  whenever  there  was  a  very  good  part  that  suited 
her.  Other  members  of  the  company  were  mostly  related 
in  some  way,  and  so  it  came  about  that  there  was  not  even 
the  "pink  flush  of  a  flirtation  over  the  first  season,"  in  fact, 
says  Miss  Morris,  "during  all  the  years  I  served  in  that  old 
theater,  no  real  scandal  ever  smirched  it."  She  adds :  " I  can 
never  be  grateful  enough  for  having  come  under  the  influence 
of  the  dear  woman  who  watched  over  me  that  first  season, 
Mrs.  Bradshaw,  the  mother  of  Blanche,  one  of  the  most 
devoted  actresses  I  ever  saw,  and  a  good  woman  besides. 
From  her  I  learned  that  because  one  is  an  actress  it  is  not 
necessary  to  be  a  slattern.  She  used  to  say: 

"You  know  at  night  the  hour  of  morning  rehearsal — then 
get  up  fifteen  minutes  earlier,  and  leave  your  room  in  order. 
Everything  an  actress  does  is  commented  on,  and  as  she  is 
more  or  less  an  object  of  suspicion,  her  conduct  should  be 
even  more  correct  than  that  of  other  women."  She  also 
repeated  again  and  again,  "Study  your  lines — speak  them 
just  as  they  are  written.  Don't  just  gather  the  idea  of  a 
speech,  and  then  use  your  own  words — that's  an  infamous 
habit.  The  author  knew  what  he  wanted  you  to  say.  If  he 
says,  'My  lord,  the  carriage  waits,'  don't  you  go  on  and  say, 
'My  lord,  the  carriage  is  waiting!"1 

These  and  many  other  pieces  of  valuable  advice  were 
stored  up  in  Clara  Morris's  mind,  and  she  made  such  good 
use  of  them  that  they  bore  rich  fruit  in  later  years. 

There  was  great  consternation  for  mother  and  daughter, 
on  a  certain  day  when  Clara  brought  home  the  startling 

253 


TEN  AMERICAN  GIRLS  FROM  HISTORY 

news  that  the  company  was  to  be  transferred  to  Columbus, 
Ohio,  for  the  remainder  of  the  season.  It  was  a  great  event 
in  the  young  actress's  life,  as  it  meant  leaving  her  mother 
and  standing  alone.  But  as  she  confesses:  "I  felt  every  now 
and  then  my  grief  and  fright  pierced  through  and  through 
with  a  delicious  thrill  of  importance;  I  was  going  to  be  just 
like  a  grown-up,  and  would  decide  for  myself  what  I  should 
wear.  I  might  even,  if  I  chose  to  become  so  reckless,  wear 
my  Sunday  hat  to  a  rehearsal,  and  when  my  cheap  little 
trunk  came,  with  C.  M.  on  the  end,  showing  it  was  my  very 
own,  I  stooped  down  and  hugged  it."  But  she  adds  with 
honesty,  "Later,  when  my  mother,  with  a  sad  face,  separated 
my  garments  from  her  own,  I  burst  into  sobs  of  utter  for- 
lornness." 

The  salary  of  the  ballet  corps  was  now  raised  to  $5  a  week, 
and  all  set  to  work  to  try  to  solve  the  riddle  of  how  a  girl 
was  to  pay  her  board  bill,  her  basket  bill,  her  washing  bill, 
and  all  the  small  expenses  of  the  theater — powder,  paint, 
soap,  hair-pins,  etc. — to  say  nothing  of  shoes  and  clothing,  out 
of  her  earnings.  Clara  Morris  and  the  Bradshaws  solved  the 
problem  in  the  only  possible  way  by  rooming  together  in  a 
large  top-floor  room,  where  they  lived  with  a  comparative 
degree  of  comfort,  and  with  less  loneliness  for  Clara  than  she 
could  have  felt  elsewhere. 

During  that  first  season  she  learned  to  manage  her  affairs 
and  to  take  care  of  herself  and  her  small  belongings, 
without  admonition  from  any  one.  At  the  same  time 
she  was  learning  much  of  the  technique  of  the  profession, 
and  was  deeply  interested  as  she  began  to  understand 
how  illusions  are  produced.  She  declares  that  one  of  the 
proofs  that  she  was  meant  to  be  an  actress  was  her  enjoy 
ment  of  the  mechanism  of  stage  effects. 

"I  was  always  on  hand  when  a  storm  had  to  be  worked," 
she  says,  "and  would  grind  away  with  a  will  at  a  crank  that, 

254 


CLARA  MORRIS 

turning  against  a  tight  band  of  silk,  made  the  sound  of  a  tre 
mendously  shrieking  wind.  Add  no  one  sitting  in  front  of 
the  house,  looking  at  a  white-robed  woman  ascending 
to  heaven,  apparently  floating  upward  through  the  blue 
clouds,  enjoyed  the  spectacle  more  than  I  enjoyed  looking  at 
the  ascent  from  the  rear,  where  I  could  see  the  tiny  iron  sup 
port  for  her  feet,  the  rod  at  her  back  with  the  belt  holding 
her  securely  about  the  waist,  and  the  men  hoisting  her 
through  the  air,  with  a  painted,  sometimes  moving  sky 
behind  her. 

"This  reminds  me,"  says  Miss  Morris,  "that  Mrs.  Brad- 
shaw  had  several  times  to  go  to  heaven  (dramatically 
speaking),  and  as  her  figure  and  weight  made  the  support 
useless,  she  always  went  to  heaven  on  the  entire  gallery,  as 
it  is  called,  a  long  platform  the  whole  width  of  the  stage, 
which  is  raised  and  lowered  by  windlass.  The  enormous 
affair  would  be  cleaned  and  hung  about  with  nice  white 
clouds,  and  then  Mrs.  Bradshaw,  draped  in  long  white  robes, 
with  hands  meekly  crossed  upon  her  breast  and  eyes  piously 
uplifted,  would  rise  heavenward,  slowly,  as  so  heavy  an 
angel  should.  But  alas!  There  was  one  drawback  to  this 
otherwise  perfect  ascension.  Never,  so  long  as  the  theater 
stood,  could  that  windlass  be  made  to  work  silently.  It  al 
ways  moved  up  or  down  to  a  succession  of  screaks,  unoilable, 
blood-curdling,  that  were  intensified  by  Mrs.  Bradshaw's 
weight,  so  that  she  ascended  to  the  blue  tarletan  heaven 
accompanied  by  such  chugs  and  long-drawn  yowlings  as 
suggested  a  trip  to  the  infernal  regions.  Her  face  remained 
calm  and  unmoved,  but  now  and  then  an  agonized  moan 
escaped  her,  lest  even  the  orchestra's  effort  to  cover  up  the 
support's  protesting  cries  should  prove  useless.  Poor 
woman,  when  she  had  been  lowered  again  to  terra  firma  and 
stepped  of?,  the  whole  paint  frame  would  give  a  kind  of 
joyous  upward  spring.  She  noticed  it,  and  one  evening 

255 


TEN  AMERICAN  GIRLS  FROM  HISTORY 

looked  back  and  said;   'Oh,  you're  not  one  bit  more  glad 
than  I  am,  you  screaking  wretch!" 

Having  successfully  existed  through  the  Columbus  season, 
in  the  spring  the  company  was  again  in  Cleveland,  playing 
for  a  few  weeks  before  disbanding  for  that  horror  of  all 
theatrical  persons — the  summer  vacation. 

As  her  mother  was  in  a  position,  and  could  not  be  with 
Clara,  the  young  actress  spent  the  sweltering  months  in  a 
cheap  boarding-house,  where  a  kindly  landlady  was  willing 
to  let  her  board  bill  run  over  until  the  fall,  when  salaries 
should  begin  again.  Clara  never  forgot  that  kindness,  for 
she  was  in  real  need  of  rest  after  her  first  season  of  continuous 
work.  Although  her  bright  eyes,  clear  skin,  and  round  face 
gave  an  impression  of  perfect  health,  yet  she  was  far  from 
strong,  owing  partly  to  the  privations  of  her  earlier  life  and 
to  a  slight  injury  to  her  back  in  babyhood.  Because  of  this, 
she  was  facing  a  life  of  hard  work  handicapped  by  that  most 
cruel  of  torments,  a  spinal  trouble,  which  an  endless  number 
of  different  treatments  failed  to  cure. 

Vacation  ended,  to  her  unspeakable  joy  she  began  work 
again  as  a  member  of  the  ballet  corps,  and  during  that  season 
and  the  next  her  ability  to  play  a  part  at  short  notice  came 
to  be  such  an  accepted  fact  that  more  than  once  she  was 
called  on  for  work  outside  of  her  regular  "line,"  to  the  envy 
of  the  other  girls,  who  began  to  talk  of  "Clara's  luck/' 
"But,"  says  Clara,  "there  was  no  luck  about  it.  My  small 
success  can  be  explained  in  two  words — extra  work." 
While  the  others  were  content  if  they  could  repeat  a  part  per 
fectly  to  themselves  in  their  rooms,  that  was  only  the  begin 
ning  of  work  to  their  more  determined  companion.  "I 
would  repeat  those  lines,"  said  Miss  Morris,  "until,  had  the 
very  roof  blown  off  the  theater  at  night,  I  should  not  have 
missed  one."  And  so  it  was  that  the  youngest  member  of 
the  ballet  corps  came  to  be  looked  on  as  a  general-utility 

256 


CLARA  MORRIS 

person,  who  could  be  called  on  at  a  moment's  notice  to  play 
the  part  of  queen  or  clown,  boy  or  elderly  woman,  as  was 
required. 

Mr.  Ellsler  considered  that  the  young  girl  had  a  real  gift  for 
comedy,  and  when  Mr.  Dan  Setchell,  the  comedian,  played 
with  the  company,  she  was  given  a  small  part,  which  she 
played  with  such  keen  perception  of  the  points  where  a  "hit" 
could  be  made,  that  at  last  the  audience  broke  into  a  storm 
of  laughter  and  applause.  Mr.  Setchell  had  another  speech, 
but  the  applause  was  so  insistent  that  he  knew  it  would  be  an 
anti-climax  and  signaled  the  prompter  to  ring  down  the 
curtain.  But  Clara  Morris  knew  that  he  ought  to  speak, 
and  was  much  frightened  by  the  effect  of  her  business,  which 
had  so  captured  the  fancy  of  the  audience,  for  she  knew  that 
the  applause  belonged  to  the  star  as  a  matter  of  professional 
etiquette.  She  stood  trembling  like  a  leaf,  until  the  comedi 
an  came  and  patted  her  kindly  on  the  shoulder,  saying: 

"Don't  be  frightened,  my  girl — that  applause  was  for  you. 
You  won't  be  fined  or  scolded — you've  made  a  hit,  that's  all!" 

But  even  the  pleasant  words  did  not  soothe  the  tempest  of 
emotion  surging  in  the  young  girl's  heart.  She  says: 

"I  went  to  my  room,  I  sat  down  with  my  head  in  my 
hands.  Great  drops  of  sweat  came  out  on  my  temples. 
My  hands  were  icy  cold,  my  mouth  was  dry — that  applause 
rang  in  my  ears.  A  cold  terror  seized  on  me — a  terror  of 
what?  Ah,  a  tender  mouth  was  bitted  and  bridled  at  last! 
The  reins  were  in  the  hands  of  the  public,  and  it  would 
drive  me,  where?" 

As  she  sat  there,  in  her  hideous  make-up,  in  a  state  of 
despair  and  panic,  she  suddenly  broke  into  shrill  laughter. 
Two  women  came  in,  and  one  said;  "Why,  what  on  earth's 
the  matter?  Have  they  blown  you  up  for  your  didoes  to 
night?  What  need  you  care.  You  pleased  the  audience." 
The  other  said,  quietly:  "Just  get  a  glass  of  water  for  her; 

257 


TEN  AMERICAN  GIRLS   FROM  HISTORY 

she  has  a  touch  of  hysteria.  I  wonder  who  caused  it?"  No 
person  had  caused  it.  Clara  Morris  was  merely  waking 
from  a  sound  sleep,  unconsciously  visioning  that  woman  of 
the  dim  future  who  was  to  conquer  the  public  in  her  por 
trayal  of  great  elemental  human  emotion. 

With  incessant  work  and  study,  and  a  firm  determination 
to  stop  short  of  nothing  less  than  the  perfection  of  art, 
those  early  years  of  Clara  Morris's  life  on  the  stage  went 
swiftly  by,  and  in  her  third  season  she  was  more  than  ever 
what  she  herself  called  "the  dramatic  scrape-goat  of  the 
company/1  one  who  was  able  to  play  any  part  at  a  moment's 
notice. 

"This  reputation  was  heightened  when  one  day,  an  actor 
falling  suddenly  sick,  Mr.  Ellsler,  with  a  furrowed  brow, 
begged  Clara  to  play  the  part.  Nothing  daunted,  the 
challenge  was  calmly  accepted,  and  in  one  afternoon  she 
studied  the  part  of  King  Charles,  in  "Faint  Heart  Never 
Won  Fair  Lady,"  and  played  it  in  borrowed  clothes  and  with 
out  any  rehearsal  whatever,  other  than  finding  the  situations 
plainly  marked  in  the  book !  It  was  an  astonishing  thing  to 
do,  and  she  was  showered  with  praise  for  the  performance; 
but  even  this  success  did  not  better  her  fortunes,  and  she 
went  on  playing  the  part  of  boys  and  old  women,  or  singing 
songs  when  forced  to  it,  going  on  for  poor  leading  parts  even, 
and  between  times  dropping  back  into  the  ballet,  standing 
about  in  crowds,  or  taking  part  in  a  village  dance." 

It  was  certainly  an  anomalous  position  she  held  in  Mr. 
Ellsler's  company — but  she  accepted  its  ups  and  downs 
without  resistance,  taking  whatever  part  came  to  hand, 
gaining  valuable  experience  from  every  new  role  assigned 
her,  and  hoping  for  a  time  when  the  returns  from  her  work 
would  be  less  meager. 

She  was  not  yet  seventeen  when  the  German  star,  Herr 
Daniel  Bandmann,  came  to  play  with  the  company.  He  was 

258 


CLARA  MORRIS 

to  open  with  "Hamlet,"  and  Mrs.  Bradshaw,  who  by  right 
should  have  played  the  part  of  Queen  Mother,  was  laid 
up  with  a  broken  ankle.  Miss  Morris  says:  "It  took  a  good 
deal  in  the  way  of  being  asked  to  do  strange  parts  to  startle 
me,  but  the  Queen  Mother  did  it.  I  was  just  nicely  past 
sixteen,  and  I  was  to  go  on  the  stage  for  the  serious  Shake- 
sperian  mother  of  a  star.  Oh,  I  couldn't!" 

"Can't  be  helped — no  one  else,"  growled  Mr.  Ellsler; 
"Just  study  your  lines,  right  away,  and  do  the  best  you  can." 

"I  had  been  brought  up  to  obey,"  says  Miss  Morris,  "and 
I  obeyed.  The  dreaded  morning  of  rehearsal  came.  There 
came  a  call  for  the  Queen.  I  came  forward.  Herr  Band- 
mann  glanced  at  me,  half  smiled,  waved  his  arms,  and  said, 
'Not  you,  not  the  Player-Queen,  but  GERTRUDE/ 

"I  faintly  answered,  'I'm  sorry,  sir,  but  I  have  to  play 
Gertrude!' 

"Oh  no,  you  won't!'  he  cried,  'not  with  me!'  Then, 
turning  to  Mr.  Ellsler,  he  lost  his  temper  and  only  con 
trolled  it  when  he  was  told  that  there  was  no  one  else  to  take 
the  part;  if  he  would  not  play  with  me,  the  theater  must  be 
closed  for  the  night.  Then  he  calmed  down  and  conde 
scended  to  look  the  girl  over  who  was  to  play  such  an  inap 
propriate  role. 

"The  night  came — a  big  house,  too,  I  remember,"  says 
Miss  Morris.  "I  wore  long  and  loose  garments  to  make  me 
look  more  matronly,  but,  alas,  the  drapery  Queen  Gertrude 
wears  was  particularly  becoming  to  me  and  brought  me 
uncommonly  near  to  prettiness.  Mr.  Ellsler  groaned,  but 
said  nothing,  while  Mr.  Bandmann  sneered  out  an  ' Ach 
Himmeir  and  shrugged  his  shoulders,  as  if  dismissing  the 
matter  as  hopeless." 

But  it  was  not.  "  As  Bandmann's  great  scene  advanced  to 
its  climax,  so  well  did  the  young  Queen  Mother  play  up  to 
Hamlet,  that  the  applause  was  rapturous.  The  curtain  felL 

18 


TEN  AMERICAN  GIRLS   FROM  HISTORY 

and  to  her  utter  amaze  she  found  herself  lifted  high  in  the 
air  and  crushed  to  Hamlet's  bosom,  with  a  crackling  sound 
of  breaking  Roman  pearls  and  in  a  whirlwind  of  German 
exclamations,  kissed  on  brow,  cheeks  and  eyes.  Then  dis 
jointed  English  came  forth;  "Oh,  you  are  so  great,  you 
kleine  apple-cheeked  girl!  You  maker  of  the  fraud — you  so 
great,  nobody.  Ach,  you  are  fire — you  have  pride — you  are 
a  Gertrude  who  have  shame!"  More  kisses,  then  suddenly 
realizing  that  the  audience  was  still  applauding,  he  dragged 
her  before  the  curtain,  he  bowed,  he  waved  his  hands,  he 
threw  one  arm  around  my  shoulders.  "He  isn't  going  to  do 
it  all  over  again — out  here,  is  he?"  thought  the  victim  of  his 
enthusiasm,  and  began  backing  out  of  sight  as  quickly  as 
possible." 

That  amusing  experience  led  to  one  of  the  most  precious 
memories  of  Clara  Morris's  career,  when,  a  month  after  the 
departure  of  the  impetuous  German,  who  should  be  an 
nounced  to  play  with  the  company  but  Mr.  Edwin  Booth. 
As  Clara  Morris  read  the  cast  of  characters,  she  says,  "I 
felt  my  eyes  growing  wider  as  I  saw — 

QUEEN  GERTRUDE Miss  Morris. 

I  had  succeeded  before,  oh  yes,  but  this  was  a  different 
matter.  All  girls  have  their  gods — some  have  many  of 
them.  My  gods  were  few,  and  on  the  highest  pedestal  of  all, 
grave  and  gentle,  stood  the  god  of  my  professional  idolatry — 
Edwin  Booth.  It  was  humiliating  to  be  forced  on  any  one  as 
I  should  be  forced  upon  Mr.  Booth,  since  there  was  still  none 
but  my  "apple-cheeked"  self  to  go  on  for  the  Queen,  and 
though  I  dreaded  complaint  and  disparaging  remarks  from 
him,  I  was  honestly  more  unhappy  over  the  annoyance  this 
blemish  on  the  cast  would  cause  him.  But  it  could  not  be 
helped,  so  I  wiped  my  eyes,  repeated  my  chidlish  little  old- 
time  'Now  I  lay  me/  and  went  to  sleep. 

260 


CLARA  MORRIS 

"The  dreaded  Monday  came,  and  at  last — the  call,  'Mr. 
Booth  would  like  to  see  you  for  a  few  moments  in  his  room/ 

"He  was  dressed  for  Hamlet  when  I  entered.  He  looked 
up,  smiled,  and,  waving  his  hand,  said  in  Bandmann's  very 
words:  'No,  not  you — not  the  Player-Queen — but  GER 
TRUDE.' 

"My  whole  heart  was  in  my  voice  as  I  gasped:  'I'm  so 
sorry,  sir,  but  I  have  to  do  Queen  Gertrude.  You  see/  I 
rushed  on,  'our  heavy  woman  has  a  broken  leg  and  can't  act. 
But  if  you  please/  I  added,  'I  had  to  do  this  part  with  Mr. 
Bandmann,  too,  and — and — I'll  only  worry  you  with  my 
looks,  sir,  not  about  the  words  or  business.' 

"He  rested  his  dark,  unspeakably  melancholy  eyes  on  my 
face,  then  he  sighed  and  said:  'Well,  it  was  the  closet  scene 
I  wanted  to  speak  to  you  about.  When  the  ghost  appears 
you  are  to  be — '  He  stopped,  a  faint  smile  touched  his 
lips,  and  he  remarked: 

''There's  no  denying  it,  my  girl,  I  look  a  great  deal  more 
like  your  father  than  you  look  like  my  mother — but — '  He 
went  on  with  his  directions,  and,  considerate  gentlemen  that 
he  was,  spoke  no  single  unkind  word  to  me,  though  my  play 
ing  of  that  part  must  have  been  a  great  annoyance  to  him. 

"When  the  closet  scene  was  over,  the  curtain  down,  I 
caught  up  my  petticoats  and  made  a  rapid  flight  roomward. 
The  applause  was  filling  the  theater.  Mr.  Booth,  turning, 
called  after  me:  'You — er — Gertrude — er — Queen!  Oh, 
somebody  call  that  child  back  here!'  and  somebody  roared, 
'Clara,  Mr.  Booth  is  calling  you!'  I  turned,  but  stood  still. 
He  beckoned,  then  came  and  took  my  hand,  saying,  'My 
dear,  we  must  not  keep  them  waiting  too  long/  and  led  me 
before  the  curtain  with  him.  I  very  slightly  bent  my  head 
to  the  audience,  whom  I  felt  were  applauding  Hamlet  only, 
but  turned  and  bowed  myself  to  the  ground  to  him  whose 
courtesy  had  brought  me  there. 

261 


TEN  AMERICAN  GIRLS  FROM  HISTORY 

When  we  came  off  he  smiled  amusedly,  tapped  me  on  the 
shoulder,  and  said:  'My  Gertrude,  you  are  very  young,  but 
you  know  how  to  pay  a  pretty  compliment — thank  you, 
child!' 

"So/'  says  Miss  Morris,  "whenever  you  see  pictures  of 
nymphs  or  goddesses  floating  in  pink  clouds  and  looking 
idiotically  happy,  you  can  say  to  yourself:  'That  is  just 
how  Clara  Morris  felt  when  Edwin  Booth  said  she  had  paid 
him  a  compliment/  Yes,  I  floated,  and  I'll  take  a  solemn 
oath,  if  necessary,  that  the  whole  theater  was  filled  with 
pink  clouds  the  rest  of  that  night,  for  girls  are  made  that  way, 
and  they  can't  help  it." 

The  young  actress  was  now  rapidly  acquiring  a  knowledge 
of  her  ability  to  act;  she  also  knew  that  as  long  as  she  re 
mained  with  Mr.  Ellsler  there  would  be  no  advancement  for 
her,  and  a  firm  determination  took  possession  of  her  to  take  a 
plunge  into  the  big  world,  where  perhaps  there  might  be  a 
chance  not  only  to  earn  enough  to  take  care  of  herself,  but 
also  enough  so  that  her  mother  would  no  longer  be  obliged 
to  work,  which  was  Clara's  bitter  mortification. 

While  she  was  considering  the  advisability  of  making  a 
change,  she  received  an  offer  from  a  Mr.  Macaulay, 
manager  of  Wood's  Museum,  at  Cincinnati,  Ohio.  He 
offered  a  small  salary,  but  as  she  was  to  be  his  leading  woman 
she  decided  to  accept  the  offer.  "When  the  matter  was 
apparently  settled,  he  wrote,  saying  that  '  because  of  the 
youth  of  his  new  star,  he  wished  to  reserve  a  few  parts  which 
his  wife  would  act.'  Only  too  well  did  Clara  Morris  under 
stand  what  that  meant — that  the  choicest  parts  would  be 
reserved.  Then  an  amusing  thing  happened.  She,  who 
was  so  lacking  in  self-confidence,  suddenly  developed  an 
ability  to  stand  up  for  her  rights.  By  return  mail  she 
informed  Mr.  Macaulay  that  her  youth  had  nothing  to  do 
with  the  matter — that  she  would  be  the  leading  woman  and 

262 


CLARA  MORRIS 

play  all  parts  or  none.  His  reply  was  a  surprise,  as  it  con 
tained  a  couple  of  signed  contracts  and  a  pleasant  request  to 
sign  both  and  return  one  at  once.  He  regretted  her  in 
ability  to  grant  his  request,  but  closed  by  expressing  his 
respect  for  her  firmness  in  demanding  her  rights.  Straight 
way  she  signed  her  first  contract,  and  went  out  to  mail  it. 
When  she  returned  she  had  made  up  her  mind  to  take  a  great 
risk.  She  had  decided  that  her  mother  should  never  again 
receive  commands  from  any  one — that  her  shoulders  were 
strong  enough  to  bear  the  welcome  burden,  that  they  would 
face  the  new  life  and  its  possible  sufferings  together — to 
gether,  that  was  the  main  thing."  She  says : 

"As  I  stood  before  the  glass  smoothing  my  hair,  I  gravely 
bowed  to  the  reflection  and  said,  'Accept  my  congratula 
tions  and  best  wishes,  Wood's  leading  lady!' — and  then  fell 
on  the  bed  and  sobbed  .  .  .  because,  you  see,  the  way  had 
been  so  long  and  hard,  but  I  had  won  one  goal — I  was  a  lead 
ing  woman!" 

Leaving  behind  the  surroundings  of  so  many  years  was 
not  a  light  matter,  nor  was  the  parting  with  the  Ellslers,  of 
whose  theatrical  family  she  had  been  a  member  for  so  long, 
easy.  When  the  hour  of  leave-taking  came,  she  was  very 
sad.  She  had  to  make  the  journey  alone,  as  her  mother 
also  was  to  join  her  only  when  she  had  found  a  place  to  settle 
in.  Mr.  Ellsler  was  sick  for  the  first  time  since  she  had  known 
him.  She  said  good-by  to  him  in  his  room,  and  left  feeling 
very  despondent,  he  seemed  so  weak.  "Judge  then,"  says 
Miss  Morris,  "my  amazement  when,  hearing  a  knock  on  my 
door  and  calling,  'Come  in' — Mr.  Ellsler,  pale  and  almost 
staggering,  entered.  A  rim  of  red  above  his  white  muffler 
betrayed  his  bandaged  throat,  and  his  poor  voice  was  but 
a  husky  whisper: 

"'I  could  not  help  it,'  he  said.  'You  were  placed  under 
my  care  once  by  your  mother.  You  were  a  child  then,  and 

263 


TEN  AMERICAN  GIRLS  FROM  HISTORY 

though  you  are  pleased  to  consider  yourself  a  woman  now, 
I  could  not  bear  to  think  of  your  leaving  the  city  without 
some  old  friend  being  by  for  a  parting  God-speed/ 

"I  was  inexpressibly  grateful,  but  he  had  yet  another 
surprise  for  me.  He  said,  'I  wanted,  too,  Clara,  to 
make  you  a  little  present  that  would  last  long  and  remind 
you  daily  of — of — er — the  years  you  have  passed  in  my 
theater.' 

"He  drew  a  small  box  from  his  pocket.  'A  good  girl  and 
a  good  actress/  he  said,  'needs  and  ought  to  own  a' — he 
touched  a  spring,  the  box  flew  open — 'a  good  watch/  he 
finished. 

"Literally,  I  could  not  speak,  having  such  agony  of  delight 
in  its  beauty,  of  pride  in  its  possession,  of  satisfaction  in  a 
need  supplied,  of  gratitude  and  surprise  immeasurable. 
'Oh!'  and  again  'Oh!'  was  all  that  I  could  cry,  while  I 
pressed  it  to  my  cheek  and  gloated  over  it.  My  thanks 
must  have  been  sadly  jumbled  and  broken,  but  my  pride 
and  pleasure  made  Mr.  Ellsler  laugh,  and  then  the  carriage 
was  there,  and  laughter  stilled  into  a  silent,  close  hand-clasp. 
As  I  opened  the  door  of  the  dusty  old  hack,  I  saw  the  first 
star  prick  brightly  through  the  evening  sky.  Then  the 
hoarse  voice  said,  'God  bless  you' — and  I  had  left  my  first 
manager." 

To  say  that  Clara  Morris  made  a  success  in  Cincinnati  is 
the  barest  truth.  Her  first  appearance  was  in  the  role  of  a 
country  girl,  Cicely ',  a  simple  milkmaid  with  only  one  speech 
to  make,  but  one  which  taxed  the  ability  of  an  actress  to  the 
uttermost  to  express  what  was  meant.  Clara  played  this 
part  in  a  demure  black-and-white  print  gown,  with  a  little 
hat  tied  down  under  her  chin.  On  the  second  night,  she 
played  what  is  called  a  "dressed  part,"  a  bright,  light- 
comedy  part  in  which  she  wore  fine  clothes;  on  the  third 
night  hers  was  a  "tearful"  part.  In  three  nights  she  com- 


CLARA  MORRIS 

pletely  won  the  public,  and  on  the  third  she  received  her 
first  anonymous  gift,  a  beautiful  and  expensive  set  of  pink 
corals  set  in  burnished  gold.  "Flowers,  too,  came  over  the 
foot-lights,  the  like  of  which  she  had  never  seen  before,  some 
of  them  costing  more  than  she  earned  in  a  week.  Then  one 
night  came  a  bolder  note  with  a  big  gold  locket,  which, 
having  its  sender's  signature,  went  straight  back  to  him  the 
next  morning.  As  a  result  it  began  to  be  whispered  about 
that  the  new  star  sent  back  all  gifts  of  jewelry;  but  when  one 
matinee  a  splendid  basket  of  white  camelias  came  with  a 
box  of  French  candied  fruit,  it  delighted  her  and  created  a 
sensation  in  the  dressing-room.  That  seemed  to  start  a 
fashion,  for  candies  in  dainty  boxes  came  to  her  afterward 
as  often  as  flowers." 

On  the  night  of  her  first  appearance,  a  lawyer  of  Cincin 
nati  who  saw  her  play  the  part  of  Cicely  was  so  delighted 
with  her  interpretation  of  the  small  role  that  he  at  once 
asked:  "Who  is  she?  What  is  her  history?" — only  to  find 
that,  like  most  happy  women,  she  had  none.  She  came  from 
Cleveland,  she  lived  three  doors  away  with  her  mother — 
that  was  all. 

Having  seen  her  a  second  time,  he  exclaimed,  "That  girl 
ought  to  be  in  New  York  this  very  moment!"  and  he  added, 
"I  know  the  foreign  theaters — their  schools  and  styles,  as 
well  as  I  know  the  home  theaters  and  their  actors.  I 
believe  I  have  made  a  discovery!" 

After  seeing  her  in  the" tearful  part,"  he  said  firmly:  "I 
shall  never  rest  till  this  Clara  Morris  faces  New  York.  She 
need  clash  with  no  one,  need  hurt  no  one,  she  is  unlike  any 
one  else,  and  New  York  has  plenty  of  room  for  her.  I  shall 
make  it  my  business  to  meet  her  and  preach  New  York  until 
she  accepts  the  idea  and  acts  upon  it." 

As  a  result  of  that  determination,  at  a  later  date,  he  met 
the  object  of  his  interest  and  roused  her  to  such  an  enthusiasm 

265 


TEN  AMERICAN  GIRLS   FROM  HISTORY 

in  his  New  York  project  that  she  wrote  to  Mr.  Ellsler,  beg 
ging  his  aid  in  reaching  New  York  managers,  and  one  day, 
shortly  afterward,  she  held  in  her  hand  a  wee  sheet  of  paper, 
containing  two  lines  scrawled  in  an  illegible  handwriting: 

"If  you  send  the  young  woman  to  me,  I  will  willingly 
consider  proposal.  Will  engage  no  actress  without  seeing 
her.— A.  DALY." 

It  was  a  difficult  proposition,  for  to  obtain  leave  of  absence 
she  would  be  obliged  to  pay  a  substitute  for  at  least  two 
performances — would  have  to  stop  for  one  night  at  a  New 
York  hotel,  and  so  spend  what  she  had  saved  toward  a  sum 
mer  vacation.  But  the  scheme  was  too  compelling  to  be  set 
aside.  That  very  night  she  asked  leave  of  absence,  made 
all  other  necessary  arrangements,  and  before  she  had  time  to 
falter  in  her  determination  found  herself  at  the  Fifth  Avenue 
Hotel  in  the  great  bustling  city  of  her  dreams.  She  break 
fasted,  and  took  from  her  bag  a  new  gray  veil,  a  pair  of  gray 
gloves  and  a  bit  of  fresh  ruffling.  Then,  having  made  all 
the  preparation  she  could  to  meet  the  arbiter  of  her  fate,  in 
her  usual  custom  she  said  a  prayer  to  that  Father  in  whose 
protecting  care  she  had  an  unfaltering  trust.  Then,  she 
says,  "I  rose  and  went  forth,  prepared  to  accept  success  or 
defeat,  just  as  the  good  Lord  should  will." 

Having  found  Mr.  Daly,  she  looked  bravely  into  his  eyes 
and  spoke  with  quick  determination  to  lose  no  time:  "I  am 
the  girl  come  out  of  the  West  to  be  inspected.  I'm  Clara 
Morris!" 

That  was  the  preface  to  an  interview  which  ended  in  his 
offer  to  engage  her,  but  without  a  stated  line  of  business. 
He  would  give  her  thirty-five  dollars  a  week,  he  said  (know 
ing  there  were  two  to  live  on  it),  and  if  she  made  a  favorable 
impression  he  would  double  that  salary. 

266 


CLARA  MORRIS 

A  poor  offer — a  risky  undertaking,  exclaimed  Clara.  "In 
my  pocket  was  an  offer  which  I  had  received  just  before 
leaving  for  New  York,  from  a  San  Francisco  manager,  with  a 
salary  of  one  hundred  dollars,  a  benefit,  and  no  vacation  at 
all,  unless  I  wished  it.  This  offer  was  fairly  burning  a  hole 
in  my  pocket  as  I  talked  with  Mr.  Daly,  who,  while  we 
talked,  was  filling  up  a  blank  contract,  for  my  signature. 
Thirty-five  dollars  against  one  hundred  dollars.  'But  if  you 
make  a  favorable  impression  you'll  get  seventy  dollars/ 
I  thought,  and  why  should  I  not  make  a  favorable  impres 
sion?  Yet,  if  I  fail  now  in  New  York,  I  can  go  West  or 
South  not  much  harmed.  If  I  wait  till  I  am  older  and 
fail,  if  will  ruin  my  life.  I  slipped  my  hand  in  my  pocket 
and  gave  a  little  farewell  tap  to  the  contract  for  one 
hundred  dollars;  I  took  the  pen;  I  looked  hard  at  him. 
'There's  a  heap  of  trust  asked  for  in  this  contract/  I 
remarked.  'You  won't  forget  your  promise  about  doub 
ling  the  contract?' 

"I  won't  forget  anything/  he  answered. 

"Then  I  wrote  'Clara  Morris'  twice,  shook  hands,  and 
went  out  and  back  to  Cincinnati,  with  an  engagement  in  a 
New  York  theater  for  the  coming  season." 

As  the  tangible  results  of  a  benefit  performance  Clara  was 
able  to  give  her  mother  a  new  spring  gown  and  bonnet  and 
send  her  off  to  visit  in  Cleveland,  before  turning  her  face 
toward  Halifax,  where  she  had  accepted  a  short  summer 
engagement.  At  the  end  of  it  she  went  on  to  New  York, 
engaged  rooms  in  a  quiet  old-fashioned  house  near  the  thea 
ter,  and  telegraphed  her  mother  to  come.  "She  came," 
says  Miss  Morris,  "and  that  blessed  evening  found  us  house 
keeping  at  last.  We  were  settled,  and  happily  ready  to 
begin  the  new  life  in  the  great,  strange  city." 

From  that  moment,  through  the  frenzied  days  of  rehearsal 
with  a  new  company,  and  with  a  large  number  of  untoward 


TEN  AMERICAN  GIRLS  FROM  HISTORY 

incidents  crowded  into  each  day,  life  moved  swiftly  on 
toward  the  first  appearance  of  Clara  Morris  on  the  New  York 
stage. 

With  a  sort  of  dogged  despair  she  lived  through  the  worry 
of  planning  how  to  buy  costumes  out  of  her  small  reserve 
fund.  When  at  last  all  her  gowns  were  ready,  she  had  two 
dollars  and  thirty-eight  cents  left,  on  which  she  and  her 
mother  must  live  until  her  first  week's  salary  should  be  paid. 
Worse  than  that,  on  the  last  awful  day  before  the  opening 
night  she  had  a  sharp  attack  of  pleurisy.  A  doctor  was 
called,  who,  being  intoxicated,  treated  the  case  wrongly. 
Another  physician  had  to  be  summoned  to  undo  the  work 
of  the  first,  and  as  a  result  Daly's  new  actress  was  in  a  con 
dition  little  calculated  to  give  her  confidence  for  such  an 
ordeal  as  the  coming  one.  She  says,  "I  could  not  swallow 
food — I  could  not!  As  the  hour  drew  near  my  mother  stood 
over  me  while  with  tear-filled  eyes  I  disposed  of  a  raw  beaten 
egg;  then  she  forced  me  to  drink  a  cup  of  broth,  fearing  a 
breakdown  if  I  tried  to  go  through  five  such  acts  as  awaited 
me  without  food.  I  always  kissed  her  good-by,  and  that 
night  my  lips  were  so  cold  and  stiff  with  fright  that  they 
would  not  move.  I  dropped  my  head  for  one  moment  on 
her  shoulder;  she  patted  me  silently  with  one  hand  and 
opened  the  door  with  the  other.  I  glanced  back.  Mother 
waved  her  hand  and  called:  'Good  luck!  God  bless  you!' 
and  I  was  on  my  way  to  my  supreme  test." 

A  blaze  of  lights,  a  hum  of  voices,  a  brilliant  throng  of 
exquisitely  gowned,  bejeweled  women  and  well-groomed 
men,  in  fact  a  house  such  as  Wood's  leading  lady  had  never 
before  confronted!  A  chance  for  triumph  or  for  disaster — 
and  triumph  it  was!  Like  a  rolling  snowball,  it  grew  as  the 
play  advanced.  Again  and  again  Clara  Morris  took  a  cur 
tain  call  with  the  other  actresses.  Finally  the  stage  manager 
said  to  Mr.  Daly,  "They  want  her,"  and  Mr.  Daly  answered, 

268 


CLARA  MORRIS 

sharply:  "I  know  what  they  want,  and  I  know  what  I  don't 
want.     Ring  up  again !" 

He  did  so.  But  it  was  useless.  At  last  Mr.  Daly  said, 
"Oh,  well,  ring  up  once  more,  and  here,  you  take  it  yourself/' 

Alone,  Clara  Morris  stood  before  the  brilliant  throng, 
vibrating  to  the  spontaneous  storm  of  enthusiasm,  and  as  she 
stood  before  them  the  audience  rose  as  one  individual,  car 
ried  out  of  themselves  by  an  actress  whose  work  was  as  rare 
as  it  was  unique — work  which  never  for  one  moment  de 
scended  to  mere  stagecraft,  but  in  its  simplest  gesture  was 
throbbing  with  vital  human  emotion. 

As  the  curtain  fell  at  last,  while  there  was  a  busy  hum 
of  excited  voices,  the  young  person  whose  place  on  the 
New  York  stage  was  assured  slipped  into  her  dressing-room, 
scrambled  into  her  clothes,  and  rushed  from  the  theater, 
hurrying  to  carry  the  good  news  to  the  two  who  were  eagerly 
awaiting  her — her  mother  and  her  dog.  "  At  last  she  saw  the 
lighted  windows  that  told  her  home  was  near.  In  a  moment, 
through  a  tangle  of  hat,  veil,  and  wriggling,  welcoming  dog, 
she  cried: 

"'It's  all  right,  mumsey — a  success!  Lots  and  lots  of 
"calls,"  dear,  and,  oh,  is  there  anything  to  eat?  I  am  so 
hungry!9 

"  So  while  the  new  actress's  name  was  floating  over  many  a 
restaurant  supper  its  owner  sat  beneath  one  gas-jet,  be 
tween  mother  and  pet,  eating  a  large  piece  of  bread  and  a 
small  piece  of  cheese,  telling  her  small  circle  of  admirers  all 
about  it,  and  winding  up  with  the  declaration,  'Mother,  I 
believe  the  hearts  are  just  the  same,  whether  they  beat 
against  Western  ribs  or  Eastern  ribs!' 

"Then,  supper  over,  she  stumbled  through  the  old-time 
'Now  I  lay  me,'  and,  adding  some  blurred  words  of  grati 
tude,  she  says,  'I  fell  asleep,  knowing  that  through  God's 
mercy  and  my  own  hard  work  I  was  the  first  Western  actress 

269 


TEN  AMERICAN  GIRLS  FROM  HISTORY 

who  had  ever  been  accepted  by  a  New  York  audience,  and 
as  I  drowsed  off  I  murmured  to  myself: 

"  *  And  I'll  leave  the  door  open,  now  that  I  have  opened  it — 
I'll  leave  it  open  for  all  the  others.' ' 

She  did.  Through  that  open  door  has  passed  a  long  pro 
cession  from  West  to  East  since  the  day  when  the  young 
woman  from  Cleveland  brought  New  York  to  her  feet  by  her 
unique  ability  and  dramatic  perception.  A  lover  of  litera 
ture  from  childhood,  a  writer  of  books  in  later  days,  Clara 
Morris  moved  on  through  the  years  of  her  brilliant  dramatic 
career  to  a  rare  achievement,  not  led  by  the  lure  of  the  foot 
lights  or  the  flimsier  forms  of  so-called  dramatic  art,  but  by 
the  call  of  the  highest. 

Well  may  the  matinee  girl  of  to-day,  or  the  stage-struck 
young  person  who  responds  to  the  glitter  and  glare,  the  ap 
plause  and  the  superficial  charm  of  the  theatrical  world, 
listen  to  Miss  Morris's  story  of  "Life  on  the  Stage,"  and 
realize  that  laurels  only  crown  untiring  effort,  success  only 
comes  after  patient  labor,  and  great  emotional  actresses 
come  to  their  own  through  the  white  heat  of  sacrifice, 
struggle,  and  supreme  desire. 


ANNA  DICKINSON:  THE  GIRL  ORATOR 

A  VERY  well-known  lawyer  of  Philadelphia  was  sit 
ting  in  his  private  office  one  morning  when  word  was 
brought  in  to  him  that  a  young  lady  wished  to  see  him.  The 
office-boy  had  never  seen  her  before,  and  she  had  not  given 
her  name,  but  she  was  very  firm  in  her  intention  not  to  be 
refused  an  interview. 

"Show  her  in,"  said  the  lawyer,  pushing  back  his  chair 
with  a  bored  expression  and  a  resolution  to  send  the  stranger 
away  at  short  notice  if  she  was  not  a  client.  What  was  his 
surprise  when  a  very  young  girl,  still  wearing  short  dresses, 
was  ushered  in,  and  stood  before  him  with  such  an  earnest 
expression  in  her  bright  eyes  that  she  instantly  attracted 
him.  Motioning  her  to  take  a  seat,  he  asked  her  errand. 

"I  wish  some  copying  to  do,"  was  the  reply,  in  such  a 
musical  voice  that  the  lawyer  became  still  more  interested. 

"Do  you  intend  to  do  it  yourself?"  he  asked. 

She  bowed  assent.  "Yes,"  she  said.  "We  are  in  need  of 
money  and  I  must  help.  I  write  a  clear  hand." 

So  pleased  was  he  with  her  manner  and  her  quiet  words, 
"We  are  in  need  of  money  and  I  must  help,"  as  well  as 
touched  by  her  self-reliance  at  an  age  when  girls  are  generally 
amusing  themselves,  that  he  gave  her  some  copying  which  he 
had  intended  to  have  done  in  the  office.  With  a  grateful 
glance  from  her  brilliant  dark  eyes,  she  thanked  him,  and, 
promising  to  bring  the  work  back  as  soon  as  possible,  she  left 
the  office. 

As  the  door  closed  behind  her  the  lawyer  opened  a  drawer 

271 


TEN  AMERICAN  GIRLS  FROM  HISTORY 

and  took  from  it  a  little  faded  photograph  of  a  young  girl 
with  dark  eyes  and  curly  hair,  looked  at  it  long  and  sadly, 
then  replaced  it  in  the  drawer  and  went  on  with  his  work. 

On  the  following  day,  when  the  office-boy  announced  "the 
young  lady  with  the  copying,"  she  was  summoned  to  his 
office  at  once  and  given  a  hearty  hand-clasp. 

"I  am  glad  to  see  you  again,"  the  lawyer  said.  "I  had  a 
daughter  you  remind  me  of  strongly.  She  died  when  she 
was  twelve  years  old.  Be  seated,  please,  and  tell  me  a  little 
about  yourself.  You  are  very  young  to  be  doing  such  work 
as  this.  Is  your  father  living,  and  why  are  you  not  in 
school?" 

Compelled  by  his  kindly  interest,  the  young  girl  talked 
as  freely  with  him  as  if  he  were  an  old  friend.  Her  name, 
she  said,  was  Anna  Elizabeth  Dickinson,  and  she  was  born 
in  Philadelphia,  thirteen  years  before,  on  the  28th  of  October. 
Her  father,  John  Dickinson,  and  her  mother,  who  had  beeu 
Mary  Edmundson  before  her  marriage,  were  both  persons 
who  were  interested  in  the  vital  questions  of  the  day,  and 
Anna  had  been  brought  up  in  an  atmosphere  of  refinement 
and  of  high  principles.  All  this  her  new  friend  learned  by  a 
series  of  friendly  questions,  and  Anna,  having  begun  her 
story,  continued  with  a  degree  of  frankness  which  was  little 
less  than  surprising,  after  so  short  an  acquaintance.  Her 
father  had  been  a  merchant,  and  had  died  when  she  was  two 
years  old,  leaving  practically  no  income  for  the  mother  to 
live  on  and  bring  up  her  five  children.  Both  mother  and 
father  were  Quakers,  she  said,  and  she  was  evidently  very 
proud  of  her  father,  for  her  eyes  flashed  as  she  said:  "He  was 
a  wonderful  man!  Of  course,  I  can't  remember  it,  but 
mother  has  told  me  that  the  last  night  of  his  life,  when  he 
was  very  sick,  he  went  to  an  anti-slavery  meeting  and  made  a 
remarkably  fine  speech.  Yes,  father  was  wonderful." 

"And  your  mother?"  queried  her  new  friend. 

272 


ANNA  DICKINSON 

Tears  dimmed  the  young  girl's  eyes.  "  There  aren't  any 
words  to  express  mother,"  she  said.  "That  is  why  I  am 
trying  to  work  at  night,  or  at  least  part  of  the  reason,"  she 
added,  with  frank  honesty.  "We  take  boarders  and  mother 
teaches  in  a  private  school,  too,  but  even  that  doesn't  give 
enough  money  for  six  of  us  to  live  on,  and  she  is  so  pale  and 
tired  all  the  time."  She  added,  with  a  toss  of  her  curly 
head:  "And  I  must  have  money  to  buy  books,  too,  but 
helping  mother  is  more  important." 

Entirely  absorbed  in  her  own  narrative  now,  she  continued 
to  pour  out  a  flood  of  facts  with  such  an  eloquence  and  per 
suasive  use  of  words  that  her  hearer  was  lost  in  amazement 
over  a  young  girl  who  was  so  fluent  in  her  use  of  language. 
From  her  frank  tale  he  gathered  that  she  had  been  a  way 
ward,  wilful,  intense,  and  very  imaginative  child,  who,  despite 
her  evident  devotion  to  her  mother,  had  probably  given  her 
many  hours  of  worry  and  unhappiness.  It  was  evident  also 
that  as  a  younger  child  she  had  been  considered  an  incor 
rigible  pupil  at  school,  for  she  seemed  to  have  always  rebelled 
against  discipline  which  she  thought  unnecessary. 

"They  could  punish  me  all  they  liked,"  she  said,  with 
flashing  eyes.  "I  would  never  obey  a  rule  that  had  not  been 
explained  to  me  and  that  wasn't  fair — never!  Teachers 
and  mothers  were  always  telling  good  little  girls  not  to  play 
with  me,  and  I  was  glad!  Girls  the  teachers  call  'good' 
sometimes  are  not  that  at  all;  they  just  know  how  to  hide 
things  from  the  teachers."  As  her  hearer  made  no  com 
ment,  but  listened  with  an  amused  smile  curving  his  lips, 
Anna  continued:  "I  adore  books,  but,  oh,  how  I  hate  school, 
when  the  rich  girls  laugh  at  my  clothes  and  then  at  me  if 
I  tell  them  that  my  mother  is  poor  and  we  work  for  all  we 
have!  It  isn't  fair,  because  we  can't  help  it,  and  we  do  the 
best  we  can.  I  never  would  say  it  to  them  in  the  world — 
never!  In  the  first  school  I  went  to  they  used  to  tease 

273 


TEN  AMERICAN  GIRLS   FROM  HISTORY 

the  children  who  were  timid,  and  bother  them  so  much  that 
they  would  forget  their  lessons  and  get  punished  when  it 
was  not  their  fault.  But  7  looked  after  them,"  declared 
Anna,  proudly.  "I  fought  their  battles  for  them,  until  the 
others  left  them  alone,  because  they  were  afraid  to  fight  me, 
I  was  so  strong.  Oh,  sir,"  she  cried,  "why  can't  people 
always  be  fair  and  square,  I  wonder?" 

As  if  mesmerized  by  the  intensity  of  this  remarkable 
young  reformer,  the  lawyer  found  himself  repeating,  "I 
wonder!"  as  if  he  had  no  opinions  on  the  subject,  but  at  the 
same  time  he  was  doing  some  thinking  in  regard  to  such  a 
unique  character  as  this  one  before  him.  When  she  had 
finished  speaking  he  rose  and  put  a  bundle  of  work  in  her 
hand.  "I  will  help  you  and  your  brave  mother  all  I  can/ 
he  said.  "While  you  are  doing  that  copying  I  will  speak  to 
other  lawyers,  who,  I  am  sure,  will  give  you  more  to  do. 
I  have  looked  over  what  you  have  done,  and  can  warmly 
recommend  you  as  a  copyist.  I  hope  we  shall  have  many 
more  long  talks  together." 

So  with  her  package  under  her  arm,  and  a  warm  feeling  of 
satisfaction  in  her  heart  because  she  had  found  a  new  friend 
who  said  she  could  do  good  work,  she  hurried  home. 

Almost  from  baby  days  it  had  been  evident  that  Anna 
Dickinson  was  no  ordinary  child,  and  how  to  curb  the  rest 
less  spirit  and  develop  the  strong  nature  into  a  fine  woman 
was  a  great  problem  for  the  already  over-burdened  mother, 
Even  as  a  young  child  Anna  had  an  iron  will,  and  discipline, 
of  which  she  later  learned  the  value,  so  chafed  her  indepen 
dent  nature  that  she  was  generally  in  a  state  of  rebellion. 
From  her  own  story  it  was  clear  that  she  must  have  been  a 
terror  to  unjust  teachers  or  pupils;  but  she  did  not  mention 
the  many  devoted  friends  she  had  gained  by  her  champion 
ship  of  those  who  were  not  being  treated  fairly  according  to 
her  ideas.  Hers  was  a  strong,  talented,  courageous,  fearless 

274 


ANNA  DICKINSON 

nature,  which  was  bound  to  be  a  great  power  for  good  or 
evil.  The  scales  were  turned  in  the  right  direction  by  her 
passionate  love  for  her  mother  and  an  intense  desire  to  lift 
some  of  the  burden  of  finanical  worry  from  her  shoulders,  as 
she  saw  Mrs.  Dickinson,  with  tireless  industry,  struggle  to 
make  ends  meet,  and  to  feed,  clothe,  and  educate  her  father 
less  children.  Her  one  determination  was  to  have  them  grow 
up  into  noble  men  and  women,  but  in  Anna's  early  life  it 
seemed  as  if  the  tumultuous  nature  would  never  be  brought 
to  any  degree  of  poise  and  self-control.  She  showed  a  marked 
love  of  books,  even  when  she  was  only  seven  years  old,  and 
would  take  one  of  her  mother's  volumes  of  Byron's  poems 
and,  hiding  under  a  bed,  where  she  would  not  be  disturbed, 
read  for  hours. 

When  she  was  about  twelve  years  old  Anna  went  to  the 
"Westover  Boarding-school  of  Friends,"  where  she  remained 
for  almost  two  years,  and  from  which  she  went  to  the 
"Friends'  Select  School"  in  Philadelphia,  where  she  was 
still  studying  when  she  applied  for  copying  and  found  a  new 
friend.  Both  of  the  schools  were  free  Quaker  schools,  as  her 
mother  could  not  afford  to  send  her  elsewhere,  and  in  both  she 
stood  high  for  scholarship,  if  not  for  deportment.  In  the 
latter  institution  she  was  noted  for  never  failing  in  a  recita 
tion,  although  she  was  taking  twelve  subjects  at  one  time, 
and  was  naturally  looked  upon  with  awe  and  admiration 
by  less  brilliant  pupils.  A  new  scholar  once  questioned  her 
as  to  her  routine  of  work,  and  the  reply  left  her  questioner 
speechless  with  wonder. 

"Oh,  I  haven't  any,"  said  Anna,  with  a  toss  of  her  curly 
head.  "And  I  don't  study.  I  just  go  to  bed  and  read, 
sometimes  till  one  o'clock  in  the  morning — poetry,  novels, 
and  all  sorts  of  things;  then  just  before  I  go  to  sleep  I  look 
my  lessons  over."  Evidently  the  new-comer  was  a  bit 
doubtful  of  being  able  to  follow  her  leader,  for  Anna  added, 

19  275 


TEN  AMERICAN  GIRLS   FROM  HISTORY 

reassuringly:  "Oh  yes,  you  can,  if  you  try.  It's  easy  when 
you  get  the  habit!"  and  went  off,  leaving  a  much-amazed 
girl  behind  her. 

At  the  time  of  her  visit  to  the  lawyer's  office  Anna  begged 
to  be  allowed  to  leave  school  to  try  and  add  to  the  family 
income,  but  her  practical  mother  pursuaded  her  not  to  do 
this  for  at  least  a  year  or  so,  and,  seeing  the  wisdom  of  the 
advice,  Anna  remained  in  the  "Friends'  School."  So 
active  was  her  mind  that  for  weeks  at  a  time  she  did  not 
sleep  over  five  hours  a  night;  the  remaining  time  she  spent 
in  doing  all  the  copying  she  could  get  and  in  reading  every 
book  on  which  she  could  lay  her  hands.  Newspapers, 
speeches,  tracts,  history,  biography,  poetry,  novels  and 
fairy-tales — she  devoured  them  all  with  eager  interest.  A 
favorite  afternoon  pastime  of  hers  was  to  go  to  the  Anti- 
Slavery  Office,  where,  curled  up  in  a  cozy  corner,  she  would 
read  their  literature  or  listen  to  arguments  on  the  subject 
presented  by  persons  who  came  and  went.  At  other  times 
she  would  be  seized  with  a  perfect  passion  for  a  new  book, 
and  would  go  out  into  the  streets,  determined  not  to  return 
home  until  she  had  earned  enough  to  buy  the  coveted  prize. 
At  such  a  time  she  would  run  errands  or  carry  bundles  or 
bags  for  passengers  coming  from  trains  until  she  had  enough 
money  for  her  book.  Then  she  would  hurry  to  a  book 
store,  linger  long  and  lovingly  over  the  piles  of  volumes,  and 
finally  buy  one,  which  she  would  take  home  and  devour, 
then  take  it  to  a  second-hand  bookshop  and  sell  it  for  a 
fraction  of  what  it  cost,  and  get  another. 

Among  her  other  delights  were  good  lectures,  and  she 
eagerly  watched  the  papers  to  find  out  when  George  William 
Curtis,  Wendell  Phillips,  or  Henry  Ward  Beecher  was  going 
to  lecture  in  the  city;  then  she  would  start  out  on  a  campaign 
to  earn  the  price  of  a  ticket  for  the  lecture. 

One  day  when  she  had  read  much  about  Wendell  Phillips, 

276 


ANNA  DICKINSON 

but  never  heard  him,  she  saw  that  he  was  to  lecture  in 
Philadelphia  on  "The  Lost  Arts."  It  happened  that  there 
was  no  copying  for  her  to  do  at  that  time,  and  she  had  no 
idea  how  to  earn  the  twenty-five  cents  which  would  give  her 
the  coveted  admittance;  but  go  to  the  lecture  she  must.  As 
she  walked  past  a  handsome  residence  she  noticed  that  coal 
had  just  been  put  in  and  the  sidewalk  left  very  grimy. 
Boldly  ringing  the  bell,  she  asked  if  she  might  scrub  the  walk, 
and  as  a  result  of  her  exertion  a  triumphant  young  girl  was 
the  first  person  to  present  herself  at  the  hall  that  night,  and 
quite  the  most  thrilled  listener  among  the  throng  that 
packed  the  house  to  hear  Wendell  Phillips.  Although  her 
career  was  so  soon  to  find  her  out,  little  did  Anna  dream  on 
that  night,  as  she  listened  spellbound  to  the  orator  of  the 
occasion,  that  not  far  in  the  future  many  of  that  audience 
were  to  be  applauding  a  young  girl  with  dark  eyes,  curly 
hair,  and  such  force  of  character  and  personal  magnetism 
that  she  was  to  sway  her  audiences  even  to  a  greater  extent 
than  the  man  to  whom  she  was  listening. 

When  she  was  seventeen  Anna  left  school  for  good,  feeling 
that  she  could  not  afford  to  give  any  more  time  to  study 
while  her  mother  needed  so  many  comforts  and  necessities 
which  money  could  buy.  So  she  left  the  "Friends'  Select 
School,"  and  in  her  unselfish  reason  for  this,  and  the  fact  that 
she  was  forced  to  support  herself  and  others  at  such  an  early 
age,  when  she  longed  for  a  more  thorough  education,  lies  an 
appeal  for  kindly  criticism  of  her  work  rather  than  a  verdict 
of  superficiality,  which  some  gave  who  did  not  understand  or 
appreciate  the  nature,  the  inspiration,  or  the  real  genius  of 
the  young  and  enthusiastic  girl. 

She  was  offered  a  position  as  teacher  in  a  school  in  New 
Brighton,  Beaver  County,  and  accepting  it  she  spent  a  few 
months  there,  but  as  she  did  not  like  it  she  applied  for  a  dis 
trict-school  position  that  was  vacant  in  the  same  town. 

277 


TEN  AMERICAN  GIRLS  FROM  HISTORY 

When  she  had  made  all  but  the  final  arrangements  with  the 
committee  she  asked,  "What  salary  do  you  give?" 

A  committeeman  replied:  "A  man  has  had  the  position 
until  now.  We  gave  him  twenty-eight  dollars  a  month,  but 
we  should  not  think  of  giving  a  girl  more  than  sixteen." 
Something  in  his  manner  and  words  stung  Anna  like  a  lash, 
and,  drawing  herself  up  to  her  full  height,  she  turned  to 
leave  the  room. 

"Sir,"  she  said,  "though  I  am  too  poor  to-day  to  buy  a 
pair  of  cotton  gloves,  I  would  rather  go  in  rags  than  degrade 
my  womanhood  by  accepting  anything  at  your  hands!" 
And  off  she  went,  to  try  her  fate  in  some  other  place  and  way, 
absolutely  sure  that  in  some  unknown  manner  she  was  to 
wrest  success  from  the  future.  Young,  inexperienced, 
penniless,  and  with  few  friends,  she  passed  weeks  looking  for 
a  situation  in  vain.  At  last  she  was  offered  work  in  a  store? 
but  when  she  found  that  she  must  tell  what  was  not  true 
about  goods  to  customers  rather  than  lose  a  sale,  she  put 
on  her  hat  and  left  at  once,  and  again  began  her  weary  quest 
of  work.  Everywhere  she  found  that,  if  she  had  been  a  boy, 
she  could  have  secured  better  positions  and  pay  than  she 
could  as  a  girl.  Also  in  her  wide  range  of  reading  she  dis 
covered  that  many  of  the  advantages  of  life  and  all  of  the 
opportunities,  at  that  time,  were  given  to  men  rather  than 
to  women.  Her  independent  nature  was  filled  with  de 
termination  to  do  something  to  alter  this,  if  she  ever  had  a 
chance.  It  came  sooner  than  she  would  have  dared  to  hope. 

One  Sunday  she  was  sitting  at  home,  reading  a  newspaper, 
when  she  saw  a  notice  of  a  meeting  to  be  held  that  afternoon 
in  a  certain  hall  by  the  "Association  of  Progressive  Friends," 
to  discuss  "Woman's  Rights  and  Wrongs."  She  would  go. 
Having  decided  this,  she  went  to  the  home  of  a  young  friend 
and  pursuaded  her  to  go,  too,  and  together  they  walked  to 
the  hall  and  were  soon  deeply  engrossed  in  the  arguments 

278 


ANNA  DICKINSON 

presented  by  the  speakers.  The  presiding  officer  of  the 
afternoon  was  a  Doctor  Longshore,  who  announced  before 
the  meeting  began  that  at  the  close  of  the  formal  discussion 
ladies  were  requested  to  speak,  as  the  subject  was  one  in 
which  they  were  especially  interested. 

"One  after  another,  women  rose  and  gave  their  views  on  the 
question.  Then,  near  the  center  of  the  house  a  girl  arose 
whose  youthful  face,  black  curls,  and  bright  eyes,  as  well  as 
her  musical  voice  and  subdued  but  impressive  manner,  com 
manded  the  attention  of  the  audience.  She  spoke  twice  as 
long  as  each  speaker  was  allowed,  and  right  to  the  point, 
sending  a  thrill  of  interest  through  her  listeners,  who  re 
membered  that  speech  for  many  a  long  day.  At  the  close 
of  the  meeting  more  than  one  in  the  audience  came  forward 
and  spoke  to  the  beaming  girl,  thanking  her  for  her  brilliant 
defense  of  her  sex,  and  asking  her  to  surely  come  to  the 
meeting  on  the  following  Sunday."  Flushed  with  triumph 
and  excitement,  she  received  the  praise  and  congratulations 
and  promised  to  be  present  the  next  week.  When  the  time 
came  she  again  rose  and  spoke  in  glowing  language  of  the 
rights  and  privileges  which  should  be  given  to  women  as  well 
as  to  men.  As  soon  as  she  sat  down  a  tall,  nervous  man,  with 
an  air  of  proud  assurance  that  the  world  was  made  for  his 
sex,  rose  and  spoke  firmly  against  Anna's  arguments,  voicing 
his  belief  that  men  were  by  right  the  lords  and  masters  of 
creation.  While  he  spoke  he  fixed  his  eyes  on  Anna,  as  if 
enchanted  by  the  sight  of  her  rapidly  crimsoning  cheeks  and 
flashing  eyes,  which  showed  emotions  at  white  heat.  The 
moment  he  finished  she  stood  again,  and  this  time,  young  and 
inexperienced  though  she  was,  with  little  education  and  less 
knowledge  of  the  great  world,  she  held  her  audience  spell 
bound  by  the  clear  ideas  which  she  poured  out  in  almost 
flawless  English,  and  by  her  air  of  conviction  which  carried 
belief  in  her  arguments  with  it.  She  spoke  clearly,  steadily, 

279 


TEN  AMERICAN  GIRLS  (  FROM  HISTORY 

as  she  summed  up  all  the  wrongs  she  had  been  obliged  to 
suffer  through  a  struggling  girlhood,  as  well  as  all  she  had 
seen  and  read  about  and  felt  in  her  soul  to  be  true,  although 
she  had  no  tangible  proofs.  On  flowed  the  tide  of  her  ora 
tory  in  such  an  outburst  of  real  feeling  that  her  hearers  were 
electrified,  amazed,  by  the  rare  magnetism  of  this  young 
and  unknown  girl.  As  she  spoke  she  drew  nearer  to  the  man, 
whose  eyes  refused  now  to  meet  her  keen  dark  ones,  and  who 
seemed  deeply  confused  as  she  scored  point  after  point  in 
defense,  saying,  "You,  sir!  said  so  and  so,"  .  .  .  with  each 
statement  sweeping  away  his  arguments  one  by  one  until  he 
had  no  ground  left  to  stand  on.  When  her  last  word  had 
been  said  and  she  took  her  seat  amid  a  storm  of  applause,  he 
swiftly  and  silently  rose  and  left  the  hall,  to  the  great  amuse 
ment  of  the  audience,  whose  sympathies  were  entirely  with 
the  young  girl  who  had  stated  her  case  so  brilliantly. 

"Who  is  she?"  was  the  question  asked  on  every  side  as  the 
eager  crowd  pushed  its  way  out  of  the  building,  all  curious 
to  get  a  nearer  view  of  the  youthful  speaker.  Doctor 
Longshore,  who  had  opened  the  meeting,  as  on  the  previous 
Sunday,  was  now  determined  to  become  acquainted  with 
Anna  and  find  out  what  had  gone  into  the  making  of  such  a 
remarkable  personality,  and  at  the  close  of  the  meeting  he 
lost  no  time  in  introducing  himself  to  her  and  making  an 
engagement  to  go  to  the  Dickinson  home  to  meet  her  family. 

Before  the  time  of  his  promised  call — in  fact,  before  Anna 
had  even  mentioned  her  success  as  a  speaker  to  her  mother — 
while  she  was  out  one  day  two  gentlemen  called  at  the  house 
and  inquired  if  Miss  Anna  Dickinson  lived  there.  Her 
mother's  cheeks  paled  with  fright,  for  she  feared  Anna  had 
been  doing  some  unconventional  thing  which  the  strangers 
had  come  to  report.  When  they  said  they  had  heard  her 
speak  at  a  public  meeting  and  were  so  much  pleased  with  her 
speech  that  they  had  come  to  find  out  something  about  her 

380 


ANNA  DICKINSON 

home  surroundings,  Mrs.  Dickinson's  brow  cleared,  and, 
leading  them  into  the  house,  she  spent  a  pleasant  half-hour 
with  them,  and  was  secretely  delighted  with  their  comments 
on  her  daughter's  first  appearance  in  public.  When  Anna 
came  home  Mrs.  Dickinson  took  her  to  task  for  not  telling 
her  about  such  a  great  event,  and  was  surprised  to  see  the 
real  diffidence  which  the  girl  showed  when  she  was  questioned 
about  the  meetings  and  her  speeches.  A  few  days  later 
Doctor  Longshore  called  with  her  brother,  Elwood,  and  with 
their  flattering  assurances  that  her  daughter  was  a  born 
speaker,  and  that  she  had  already  made  some  valuable 
points  on  a  vital  subject,  Mrs.  Dickinson  began  to  feel  that 
all  her  worry  over  Anna's  turbulent  childhood  and  restless 
girlhood  had  not  been  in  vain,  that  she  was  born  to  do  great 
things,  and  from  that  time  she  took  a  genuine  pride  in  all  the 
achievements  of  the  young  girl  who  came  so  rapidly  into 
public  notice. 

The  Longshores  took  Anna  into  their  hearts  and  home  at 
once,  and  many  of  her  happiest  hours  were  spent  with  them. 
"We  felt  toward  her,"  Doctor  Longshore  said,  "as  if  she 
were  our  own  child.  We  were  the  first  strangers  to  show  an 
interest  in  her  welfare  and  future  plans,  and  she  returned  our 
friendship  with  confidence  and  love."  She  was  always  so 
buoyant,  so  full  of  vitality  and  gayety,  that  her  visits  were 
eagerly  anticipated,  and  for  hours  at  a  time  she  would  enter 
tain  her  new  friends  with  vivid  and  droll  accounts  of  her 
experiences  at  home  and  in  school  and  of  her  attempts  to 
make  money.  And  as  she  had  won  her  way  into  the  hearts 
of  her  audience,  at  those  first  meetings,  so  now  she  kept  the 
Longshores  enthralled,  making  them  laugh  at  one  moment 
and  cry  at  another.  One  night  she  had  a  horrible  dream  to 
relate. 

"I  had  been  reading  an  account  of  the  horrors  of  the  slave 
system  at  its  worst,"  she  said.  "After  going  to  bed,  I  was 

281 


TEN  AMERICAN  GIRLS  FROM  HISTORY 

long  in  falling  asleep.  Finally  I  slept  and  dreamed  that  I 
was  a  slave  girl,  and,  oh,  the  agony  of  the  knowledge!  The 
hot  sun  scorched  my  burning  skin  as  I  toiled  in  the  fields, 
with  almost  no  clothing  to  soften  the  sun's  heat.  I  was 
hungry,  but  there  was  insufficient  food.  At  last  I  was 
dressed  in  clean,  showy  clothes  and  led  to  the  auction-block, 
where  I  was  auctioned  off  to  the  highest  bidder.  He  led  me 
away  in  triumph  to  even  worse  experiences,  and  when  I 
woke  up  I  could  not  throw  off  the  horror  of  the  awful  night 


mare." 


Seeing  her  tremble  under  the  misery  of  the  recollection, 
Doctor  Longshore  soothed  her  by  saying  that  the  dream  was 
a  natural  result  of  the  highly  colored  account  she  had  been 
reading  before  going  to  sleep,  that  all  slaves  were  not  by  any 
means  treated  in  such  a  cruel  manner,  and  at  last  she  grew 
calm.  But  whenever  in  future  she  spoke  on  the  subject  of 
slavery  this  terrible  memory  would  come  back  to  her  so 
vividly  that  it  would  intensify  her  power  to  speak  with  con 
viction. 

For  several  Sundays  she  went  regularly  to  the  "Pro 
gressive  Friends'"  meeting  and  spoke  with  unvarying  suc 
cess.  Then  she  was  invited  to  go  to  Mullica  Hill,  New  Jer 
sey,  to  speak  on  the  subject,  "Woman's  Work."  After  dis 
cussing  the  matter  with  her  mother  and  the  Longshores,  she 
accepted  the  invitation  and  set  herself  to  prepare  the  lec 
ture  which  she  was  to  give.  Then,  on  the  first  Sunday  in 
April,  the  seventeen-year-old  orator  went  to  her  trial  experi 
ence  as  an  invited  speaker.  By  that  time  her  praises  had 
been  widely  sung,  and  when  she  rose  and  saw  her  audience 
there  was  a  sea  of  upturned,  eager  faces  looking  into  hers. 
Speaking  from  the  depths  of  her  own  experience,  she  held 
the  audience  in  breathless  silence  for  over  an  hour.  There 
was,  it  was  said,  an  indescribable  pathos  in  her  full,  rich  voice 
that,  aside  from  what  she  said,  touched  the  hearts  of  her 


ANNA  DICKINSON 

hearers  and  moved  many  to  tears,  while  all  were  spellbound, 
and  at  the  close  of  her  address  no  one  moved.  Finally  a  man 
rose  and  voiced  the  feeling  of  the  people. 

"We  will  not  disperse  until  the  speaker  promises  to  address 
ois  again  this  evening,"  he  said,  and  a  burst  of  applause 
greeted  his  statement.  A  starry-eyed  girl  stood  and  bowed 
her  acknowledgment  and  agreed  to  speak  again.  As  the 
audience  dispersed  Anna  heard  some  one  say,  "If  Lucretia 
Mott  had  made  that  speech  it  would  be  thought  a  great 


one." 


As  she  promised,  in  the  evening  she  spoke  again  on  slavery, 
with  equal  success.  A  collection  which  was  taken  up  for  her 
amounted  to  several  dollars,  the  first  financial  result  of  what 
was  to  be  her  golden  resource. 

But  Anna  had  no  thought  of  doing  public  speaking  as  her 
only  means  of  earning  her  living.  She  continued  to  look 
for  positions,  but  without  success.  Finally  she  took  a  dis 
trict  school  in  Bucks  County,  at  a  monthly  salary  of  twenty- 
five  dollars.  So  interested  was  she  in  the  "Progressive 
Friends'"  Sunday  meetings  that  she  went  home  every  second 
week  to  attend  them,  and  her  speeches  always  won  applause 
from  an  audience  that  had  learned  to  anticipate  the  impas 
sioned  statements  of  the  bright-eyed  girl  who  was  so  much 
younger  and  so  much  more  intense  than  any  other  speaker. 

And  now  she  began  to  receive  invitations  to  speak  in  other 
places.  On  her  eighteenth  birthday  she  spoke  in  a  small 
village  about  thirty  miles  out  of  Philadelphia,  when  she 
fairly  electrified  her  hearers  by  the  force  of  her  arguments 
and  the  form  in  which  she  presented  them.  She  continued 
to  teach,  although  during  her  summer  vacation  she  made 
many  speeches  in  New  Jersey.  On  one  occasion  she  spoke 
in  the  open  air,  in  a  beautiful  grove  where  hundreds  had  come 
to  hear  "the  girl  orator"  give  her  views  on  temperance  and 
slavery.  Her  earnestness  and  conviction  of  the  truth  of 

283 


TEN  AMERICAN  GIRLS   FROM  HISTORY 

what  she  said  made  a  profound  impression,  and  even  those 
who  later  criticized  her  speech  as  being  the  product  of  an 
immature  and  superficial  mind  were  held  as  by  a  spell  while  she 
spoke,  and  secretly  admired  her  while  they  openly  ridiculed 
her  arguments.  At  another  time  she  was  asked  to  speak  at 
the  laying  of  the  corner-stone  of  a  new  Methodist  church. 
The  clergymen  who  gathered  together  were  inclined  to  be 
severe  in  their  judgment  of  the  remarks  of  a  "slip  of  a  girl." 
Anna  knew  that  and  resolved  to  speak  with  more  than  usual 
pathos  and  power.  When  she  began  her  address  amuse 
ment  was  evident  on  the  faces  of  the  dignified  men  looking 
at  her.  Gradually  they  grew  more  interested,  the  silence 
became  intense,  and  when  the  men  rose  to  leave  they  were 
subdued,  and  some  of  them  even  were  not  ashamed  to  be 
seen  wiping  away  tears.  One  of  them  introduced  himself  to 
her  and  with  a  cordial  hand-shake  said:  "Miss  Dickinson,  I 
have  always  ridiculed  Woman's  Rights,  but,  so  help  me  God, 
I  never  shall  again." 

But  this  time  the  young  orator  could  not  help  feeling  the 
power  she  had  to  sway  great  masses  of  people,  and  with  a 
thrill  of  joy  she  began  to  believe  that  perhaps  in  this  work 
which  she  loved  above  anything  else  in  the  world  she  would 
some  day  find  her  vocation,  for  she  was  already  receiving 
commendation  from  men  and  women  of  a  high  order  of 
intelligence  and  being  given  larger  contributions  as  a  result 
of  her  speeches. 

The  country  was  at  that  time  in  the  beginning  of  its 
Civil  War  period,  and  much  was  written  and  said  on  the 
issue  of  the  hour.  At  a  Kennett  Square  meeting,  where  hot 
debates  were  held  on  the  burning  question  of  the  day,  Anna 
was  one  of  the  speakers,  and  one  of  the  press  notices  on  the 
following  day  said: 

"...  The  next  speaker  was  Miss  Anna  Dickinson,  of 
Philadelphia,  handsome,  of  an  expressive  countenance, 

284 


ANNA  DICKINSON 

plainly  dressed,  and  eloquent  beyond  her  years.  After  the 
listless,  monotonous  harangues  of  the  previous  part  of  the 
day,  the  distinct,  earnest  tones  of  this  juvenile  Joan  of  Arc 
were  very  sweet  and  charming.  During  her  discourse, 
which  was  frequently  interrupted,  Miss  Dickinson  main 
tained  her  presence  of  mind,  and  uttered  her  radical  senti 
ments  with  resolution  and  plainness.  Those  who  did  not 
sympathize  with  her  remarks  were  softened  by  her  simplicity 
and  solemnity.  Her  speech  was  decidedly  the  speech  of  the 
evening.  .  .  .  Miss  Dickinson,  we  understand,  is  a  member 
of  the  Society  of  Friends,  and  her  speech  came  in  the  shape  of 
a  retort  to  remarks  which  were  contrary  to  her  own  beliefs. 
With  her  usual  clear-cut  conviction  and  glowing  oratory, 
Miss  Dickinson  said  that: 

'''We  are  told  to  maintain  constitutions  because  they  are 
constitutions,  and  compromises  because  they  are  compro 
mises.  But  what  are  compromises?'  asked  the  young 
speaker,  'and  what  was  laid  down  in  these  constitutions? 
Eminent  lawgivers  have  said  that  certain  great  fundamental 
ideas  of  right  are  common  to  the  world,  and  that  all  laws 
of  man's  making  which  trample  on  those  idea  are  null  and 
void — wrong  to  obey,  but  right  to  disobey.  The  Constitu 
tion  of  the  United  States  sat  upon  the  neck  of  those  rights, 
recognizes  human  slavery,  and  makes  the  souls  of  men 
articles  of  purchase  and  sale.)>: 

So  clear  of  mind  and  expression  was  the  young  orator  that 
her  statements  sank  as  deeply  into  the  minds  of  her  hearers 
as  if  spoken  by  a  far  more  learned  person,  and  from  that  time 
her  intense  nature  had  found  its  true  outlet,  and  her  longing 
to  provide  her  mother  with  some  of  the  comforts  which  had 
so  long  been  denied  her  was  soon  to  be  realized. 

In  that  same  year  of  her  speech  at  Kennett  Square,  on  an 
evening  in  late  February,  she  spoke  in  Concert  Hall,  Phila 
delphia,  before  an  audience  of  about  eight  hundred  persons. 


TEN  AMERICAN  GIRLS  FROM  HISTORY 

For  two  hours  she  spoke,  without  notes  and  with  easy 
fluency.  There  were  many  well-known  men  and  women 
there,  who  were  delighted  with  what  they  were  pleased  to 
call  a  young  girl's  notable  performance.  But  Anna  herself 
was  far  from  pleased  with  her  speech.  Afterward,  on 
reaching  the  Longshores',  she  threw  herself  into  a  chair  with 
an  air  of  utter  despondency,  and,  in  response  to  their  praise, 
only  shook  her  head. 

"I  am  mortified,"  she  declared.  "I  spoke  too  long,  and 
what  I  said  lacked  arrangement,  order,  and  point.  And 
before  such  an  audience!" 

This  incident  shows  clearly  that,  despite  all  the  flattery 
which  was  showered  on  her  at  that  time,  she  did  not  lose  her 
sense  of  balance,  but  knew  with  a  keen  instinct  whether  she 
had  achieved  her  end  or  not. 

And  now  winter  was  over  and  spring  had  come  with  its 
spirit  of  new  birth  and  fulfilment.  And,  as  the  buds  began 
to  swell  and  open,  the  strong  will  and  fresh  young  spirit  of 
Anna  Dickinson  asserted  itself  in  a  desire  for  more  profitable 
daily  work,  for  as  yet  she  was  not  able  to  give  up  other 
employment  for  the  public  speaking  which  brought  her  in 
uneven  returns.  She  disliked  the  confinement  and  routine 
of  teaching  so  much  that  she  decided  to  try  a  new  kind  of 
work,  and  secured  a  place  in  the  Mint,  where  she  described 
her  duties  vividly  to  her  interested  friends. 

"I  sat  on  a  stool,"  she  said,  "from  seven  o'clock  in  the 
morning  to  six  at  night  for  twenty-eight  dollars  a  month. 
The  atmosphere  of  the  room  was  close  and  impure,  as  it  was 
necessary  to  keep  all  windows  and  doors  closed  in  the  adjust 
ing-room,  for  the  least  draught  of  air  would  vary  the  scales." 
Not  a  very  congenial  occupation  for  the  independent  nature 
of  the  young  orator,  but,  although  she  disliked  the  work,  she 
was  very  skilful  at  it,  and  soon  became  the  fastest  adjuster 
in  the  Mint.  But  she  could  not  bear  the  confinement  of  the 


ANNA  DICKINSON 

adjusting-room  and  changed  to  the  coining-room,  yet  even 
that  was  impossible  to  a  spirit  which  had  seen  a  vision  of 
creative  work  and  of  ability  to  do  it.  Then,  too,  she  thor 
oughly  disliked  the  men  with  whom  she  was  thrown  and  their 
beliefs,  knowing  them  to  be  opposed  to  principles  which 
she  held  sacred;  so  when,  in  November,  she  made  a  speech  on 
the  events  of  the  war,  in  which  she  stated  her  views  so  frankly 
that  when  they  came  to  the  ears  of  Government  officials  who 
did  not  agree  with  her  she  was  dismissed  from  the  Mint? 
she  was  rather  pleased  than  troubled. 

Through  the  remainder  of  the  winter  she  continued  to 
speak  in  various  suburbs  of  the  city,  not  always  to  sympa 
thetic  audiences,  for  so  radical  were  some  of  her  assertions? 
especially  coming  from  the  lips  of  a  mere  girl,  that  she  was 
hissed  time  and  again  for  her  assertions.  Despite  this,  she 
was  becoming  well  known  as  a  speaker  of  great  ability,  and 
as  the  war  went  on,  with  its  varying  successes  for  the  North 
and  South,  she  thought  with  less  intensity  on  the  subjects  of 
the  future  of  the  negro  and  the  wrongs  of  women,  and  became 
more  deeply  absorbed  in  questions  of  national  importance, 
which  was  a  fortunate  thing  for  her.  She  was  enthusiastic, 
eloquent,  young  and  pretty,  all  of  which  characteristics 
made  her  a  valuable  ally  for  any  cause.  Mr.  Garrison,  the 
noted  Abolitionist,  heard  her  speak  twice,  and  was  so 
delighted  with  her  manner  and  ability  that  he  asked  for  an 
introduction  to  her,  and  invited  her  to  visit  Boston  and  make 
his  house  her  home  while  there.  She  thanked  him  with 
pretty  enthusiasm  and  accepted,  but  before  going  to  Boston 
was  persuaded  to  give  the  lecture  in  Philadelphia,  for  which 
she  had  been  dismissed  from  the  Mint.  A  ten-cent  admission 
was  charged,  and  Judge  Pierce,  one  of  the  early  advocates  of 
Woman's  Rights,  presided  and  introduced  the  young 
speaker.  The  house  was  crowded,  and  this  time  she  was 
satisfied  with  her  lecture,  while  the  eager  Longshores  and 

287 


TEN  AMERICAN  GIRLS  FROM  HISTORY 

her  mother  were  filled  with  a  just  pride.  After  all  expenses 
were  paid  she  was  handed  a  check  for  a  bigger  sum  of  money 
than  she  had  ever  owned  before.  The  largest  share  of  it  was 
given  at  once  to  her  mother,  then,  after  a  serious  discussion 
with  Doctor  Longshore,  Anna  decided  to  spend  the  remain 
der  on  her  first  silk  dress.  Despite  oratory  and  advanced 
views,  the  girl  of  eighteen  was  still  human  and  feminine,  and 
it  is  to  be  doubted  whether  any  results  of  her  labors  ever  gave 
her  more  satisfaction  than  that  bit  of  finery  for  her  public 
appearances. 

And  now  the  young  orator  went  to  Boston,  where  through 
Mr.  Garrison's  influence  she  was  invited  to  speak  in  Theodore 
Parker's  pulpit,  as  leading  reformers  were  then  doing.  She 
also  spoke  in  the  Music  Hall  on  "The  National  Crisis,"  and 
that  lecture  was  the  hardest  trial  she  ever  experienced.  For 
two  days  before  it  she  could  not  sleep  or  eat,  and  answered 
questions  like  one  in  a  dream,  and  Mr.  Garrison  and  those 
friends  who  had  been  confident  of  her  ability  to  hold  any 
audience  began  to  feel  extremely  nervous.  If  she  should 
make  a  failure  now  at  the  beginning  of  her  career,  it  would 
be  critical  for  her  future. 

The  night  came,  and  with  ill-concealed  nervousness  Anna 
put  on  the  new  silk  dress,  shook  her  heavy  curls  into  place, 
and  with  resolute  courage  went  to  the  hall,  where,  on 
mounting  the  platform,  she  noted  the  most  tremendous 
audience  she  had  ever  before  faced.  Mr.  Garrison  opened 
the  meeting  by  reading  a  chapter  of  the  Bible,  then  he  used 
up  as  much  time  as  possible  in  remarks,  in  order  to  make  the 
best  of  a  bad  situation,  for  he  felt  that  she  was  not  in  a  state 
of  mind  or  body  to  hold  the  coldly  critical  audience  before 
her.  While  he  read  and  spoke  poor  Anna  behind  him  waited 
to  be  presented,  in  an  agony  of  nervousness  which  she  strug 
gled  not  to  show.  Then  came  the  singing  of  the  "Negro 
Boatman's  Song  of  Whittier"  by  a  quartet,  accompanied 

288 


ANNA  DICKINSON 

by  the  organ.  At  last,  with  an  easy  smile,  which  concealed 
his  real  feelings,  Mr.  Garrison  turned  to  introduce  Anna,  and 
she  rose  and  walked  forward  to  the  front  of  the  platform, 
looking  more  immature  and  girlish  than  ever  before.  Her 
first  sentences  were  halting,  disconnected,  her  fingers  twined 
and  twisted  nervously  around  the  handkerchief  she  held; 
then  she  saw  a  sympathetic  upturned  face  in  the  front  row 
of  the  audience  staring  up  at  her.  Something  in  the  face 
roused  Anna  to  a  determined  effort.  Throwing  herself  into 
her  subject,  she  soon  was  pouring  out  a  passionate  appeal 
for  a  broader  national  life  and  action.  Gone  were  fear  and 
self-consciousness,  gone  all  but  determination  to  make  her 
audience  feel  as  she  felt,  believe  as  she  believed,  in  the  in 
terest  of  humanity  and  the  highest  ideals.  For  over  an  hour 
she  held  that  coldly  critical  mass  of  New  England  hearers  as 
if  by  a  magic  spell,  then  the  vast  audience  rose  and  gave  vent 
to  their  emotion  by  the  singing  of  "America/'  and  then 
persons  of  distinction  and  wealth  crowded  around  the  speaker 
of  the  evening  with  thanks  and  praise.  To  one  and  all  the 
young  orator,  whose  eyes  were  still  shining  with  enthusiasm, 
replied,  simply:  "I  thank  you.  The  subject  is  very  near 
my  heart/'  and  as  those  who  met  her  turned  away  they  could 
not  hide  their  amazement  at  the  ability  of  a  young  person 
who  looked  so  immature  in  her  girlish  beauty  and  freshness. 

This  was  the  beginning  of  a  period  of  success.  She  de 
livered  the  Boston  lecture  in  several  other  New  England 
cities,  and  had  many  fine  press  notices  on  it,  one  of  which 
closed  with  the  following  sentences: 

"Her  whole  appearance  and  manner  were  decidedly  at 
tractive,  earnest,  and  expressive.  Her  lecture  was  well 
arranged,  logical,  and  occasionally  eloquent,  persuasive,  and 
pathetic." 

That  was  the  time  when  every  woman  with  a  tender  heart 
and  a  chance  to  show  it  for  the  benefit  of  the  wounded  sol- 

289 


TEN  AMERICAN  GIRLS   FROM  HISTORY 

diers  served  her  apprenticeship  in  some  hospital,  and  Anna 
was  one  of  them.  With  keen  sympathy  she  nursed  and  com 
forted  the  sick  men,  who  told  her  freely  about  their  hard 
ships  and  sufferings,  as  well  as  the  motives  which  led  them 
to  go  into  the  army,  and  she  learned  their  opinion  of  war 
and  of  life  on  the  battle-fields.  From  this  experience  she 
gained  much  priceless  material  which  she  later  used  most 
successfully. 

She  was  now  beginning  to  be  known  as  much  for  her  youth 
and  personal  charm  as  for  the  subject-matter  of  her  lectures, 
and  to  her  unbounded  joy  in  October,  1862,  she  received  one 
hundred  dollars  and  many  flattering  press  notices  for  a 
speech  given  before  the  Boston  Fraternity  Lyceum.  This 
success  encouraged  her  to  plan  a  series  of  lectures  to  be  given 
in  various  parts  of  the  East,  especially  in  New  England, 
from  which  she  hoped  to  gain  substantial  results.  But  in 
making  her  plans  she  had  failed  to  reckon  with  the  humor 
of  the  people  who  under  the  stress  of  war  had  little  interest 
even  in  the  most  thrilling  lectures,  and  she  traveled  from 
place  to  place  with  such  meager  returns  that  she  became 
perfectly  disheartened,  and,  worse  than  that,  she  was  almost 
penniless. 

When  she  had  filled  her  last  engagement  of  the  series,  for 
which  she  was  to  receive  the  large  sum  of  ten  dollars,  at 
Concord,  New  Hampshire,  she  realized  with  a  sinking  heart 
that  unless  she  could  turn  the  tide  of  her  affairs  quickly  she 
must  again  seek  another  occupation.  The  resolute  girl  was 
almost  disheartened,  and  she  confessed  to  a  friend  later: 

"No  one  knows  how  I  felt  and  suffered  that  winter,  pen 
niless  and  alone,  with  a  scanty  wardrobe,  suffering  with  cold, 
weariness,  and  disappointment.  I  wandered  about  on  the 
trains  day  after  day  among  strangers,  seeking  employment 
for  an  honest  living  and  failing  to  find  it.  I  would  have  gone 
home,  but  had  not  the  means.  I  had  borrowed  money  to 

290 


ANNA  DICKINSON 

commence  my  journey,  promising  to  remit  soon;  failing  to  do 
so,  I  could  not  ask  again.  Beyond  my  Concord  meeting,  all 
was  darkness.  I  had  no  further  plans." 

With  positive  want  staring  her  in  the  face,  in  debt  for  the 
trip  which  she  had  taken  on  a  venture,  and  shrinkingly  sen 
sitive  in  regard  to  her  inability  to  aid  her  mother  more 
lavishly,  there  was  need  of  quick  action.  Alone  in  a  board 
ing-house  room,  Anna  reviewed  her  resources  and  the  mate 
rial  she  had  on  hand  for  a  new  and  more  taking  lecture. 

"I  have  it!"  she  exclaimed,  jumping  to  her  feet,  and  taking 
up  a  pad  and  pencil  she  hastily  began  to  write  a  lecture  in 
which  she  used  the  material  gained  in  her  hospital  experi 
ence.  She  called  it  "Hospital  Life."  When  she  gave  it  on 
that  night  at  Concord  with  a  heavy  heart  it  proved  to  be  the 
pivot  on  which  her  success  as  a  lecturer  swung  to  its  greatest 
height.  As  she  drew  her  vivid  pictures  of  the  hospital 
experience  and  horrors  of  war  and  slavery  she  melted  her 
audience  to  tears  by  her  impassioned  delivery.  The  secre 
tary  of  the  New  Hampshire  Central  Committee  was  in  the 
audience  and  was  enchanted  as  he  heard  the  young  speaker 
for  the  first  time.  At  the  close  of  the  lecture  he  said  to  a 
friend : 

"If  we  can  get  this  girl  to  make  that  speech  all  through 
New  Hampshire,  we  can  carry  the  Republican  ticket  in  this 
State  in  the  coming  election." 

So  impressed  was  he  with  Anna's  powers  of  persuasion  that 
he  decided  to  invite  her  to  become  a  campaign  speaker  on  his 
own  responsibility,  if  the  State  Committee  did  not  think 
well  of  the  idea.  But  that  committee  was  only  too  glad  to 
adopt  any  plan  to  aid  their  cause.  Anna  Dickinson,  then 
only  eighteen  years  old,  was  invited  to  become  part  of  the 
State  machinery,  to  work  on  the  side  which  appealed  to  her 
sense  of  justice.  Elated,  excited,  and  enthusiastic,  she  ac 
cepted  the  offer  and  began  to  speak  early  in  March.  What  a 

20  291 


TEN  AMERICAN  GIRLS  FROM  HISTORY 

work  that  was  for  the  young  and  inexperienced  girl!  In  the 
month  before  election,  twenty  times  she  stood  before  great 
throngs  of  eager  persons  and  spoke,  rousing  great  enthusi 
asm  by  her  eloquent  appeals  in  the  name  of  reason  and  fair 
play. 

Slight,  pretty,  and  without  any  of  the  tricks  of  the  pro 
fessional  political  speaker,  her  march  through  the  State  was  a 
succession  of  triumphs  which  ended  in  a  Republican  victory, 
and,  though  many  of  her  enemies  called  her  "ignorant  and 
illogical"  as  well  as  "noisy"  in  mind  and  spirit,  the  adverse 
criticism  was  of  no  consequence  in  comparison  to  the  praise 
and  success  which  far  outweighed  it. 

The  member  in  the  first  district,  having  no  faith  that  a 
woman  could  influence  politics,  sent  word  to  the  secretary, 
"Don't  send  that  woman  down  here  to  defeat  my  election." 

The  secretary  replied,  "We  have  work  enough  for  her  to 
do  in  other  districts  without  interfering  with  you!" 

When  the  honorable  member  saw  the  furore  Anna  was 
creating  he  changed  his  mind  and  begged  the  secretary  to  let 
her  speak  in  his  district.  The  secretary  replied:  "It  is  too 
late;  the  program  is  arranged.  .  ,  .  You  would  not  have 
her  when  you  could,  now  you  cannot  have  her  when  you 
will!" 

That  district  was  lost  by  a  large  majority,  while  the  others 
went  strongly  Republican,  and  it  is  interesting  to  note  that 
when  the  good  news  reached  headquarters  the  Governor- 
elect  himself  personally  sent  Anna  thanks  for  her  eloquent 
speeches,  and  to  her  amazement  she  was  serenaded,  feasted, 
and  praised  in  a  way  that  would  have  turned  the  head  of  a 
young  woman  who  had  been  more  interested  in  her  own  suc 
cess  than  in  victory  for  a  cause  for  which  she  stood.  But 
that  and  the  money  she  could  make  and  pass  on  to  her 
mother  were  Anna's  supreme  objeats  in  whatever  she  under 
took,  and  although  she  would  have  been  less  than  human 

292 


ANNA  DICKINSON 

if  the  praise  and  recognition  had  not  pleased  her,  yet  her 
real  joy  lay  in  the  good-sized  checks  which  she  could  now 
add  to  the  family  treasury. 

"Having  done  such  good  work  in  the  New  Hampshire 
election,  her  next  field  of  endeavor  was  Connecticut,  where 
the  Republicans  were  completely  disheartened,  for  nothing, 
they  said,  could  prevent  the  Democrats  from  carrying  the 
State.  The  issue  was  a  vital  one,  and  yet  so  discouraged 
were  the  Connecticut  politicians  that  they  were  about  to 
give  up  the  fight  without  further  effort,  when  it  was  decided 
to  try  having  the  successful  young  girl  speaker  see  what  she 
could  do  for  them.  Anna  was  only  too  delighted  to  accept 
the  challenge,  and  at  once  started  on  a  round  of  stump-speak 
ing  and  speechmaking,  with  all  the  enthusiasm  of  her  intense 
nature  added  to  the  inspiration  of  her  recent  success  in  a 
neighboring  State.  The  results  were  almost  miraculous. 
Two  weeks  of  steady  work  not  only  turned  the  tide  of  popular 
feeling,  but  created  a  perfect  frenzy  of  interest  in  the  young 
orator.  Even  the  Democrats,  in  spite  of  scurrilous  attacks 
made  on  her  by  some  of  their  leaders,  received  her  every 
where  with  the  warmest  welcome,*tore  off  their  party  badges, 
and  replaced  them  by  her  picture,  while  giving  wild  applause 
to  all  she  said.  The  halls  where  she  spoke  were  so  densely 
packed  that  the  Republicans  stayed  away  to  make  room  for 
the  Democrats,  and  the  women  were  shut  out  to  leave  room 
for  those  who  could  vote." 

Well  had  her  mother's  struggle  to  make  a  fine  woman  of 
her  turbulent  daughter  been  repaid.  Never  was  there  such 
a  furore  over  any  orator  in  the  history  of  this  country.  The 
critical  time  of  her  appearance,  the  excited  condition  of  the 
people,  her  youth,  beauty,  and  remarkable  voice,  all  height 
ened  the  effect  of  her  genius.  Her  name  was  on  every  lip. 
Ministers  preached  about  her,  prayed  for  her  as  a  second 
Joan  of  Arc  raised  up  by  God  to  save  their  State  for  the 

293 


TEN  AMERICAN  GIRLS   FROM  HISTORY 

loyal  party,  and  through  it  the  nation  to  freedom  and  hu 
manity.  And  through  all  the  excitement  and  furore  the 
youthful  heroine  moved  with  calm  poise  and  a  firm  deter 
mination  toward  her  goal,  attempting  to  speak  clearly  and 
truthfully  in  regard  to  what  were  her  sacred  beliefs. 

Election  Day  was  at  hand,  and  missionary  work  must  not 
slacken  even  for  one  moment.  On  the  Saturday  night  be 
fore  the  fateful  day  Anna  spoke  before  an  audience  of  over 
one  thousand  of  the  working-men  of  Hartford,  Connecticut. 
This  was  the  last  effort  of  the  campaign,  and  it  was  a  remark 
able  tribute  to  a  young  woman's  powers  that  the  com 
mittee  of  men  were  willing  to  rest  their  case  on  her  efforts. 
A  newspaper  account  of  the  meeting  said: 

"Allyn  Hall  was  packed  as  it  never  was  before.  The 
aisles  were  full  of  men  who  stood  patiently  for  more  than 
three  hours;  the  window-sills  had  their  occupants,  every 
foot  of  standing  room  was  taken,  and  in  the  rear  of  the  gal 
leries  men  seemed  to  hang  in  swarms  like  bees.  Such  was 
the  view  from  the  stage.  ...  To  such  an  audience  Miss 
Dickinson  spoke  for  two  hours  and  twenty  minutes,  and 
hardly  a  listener  left  the  hall  during  that  time.  Her  power 
over  the  audience  was  marvelous.  She  seemed  to  have  that 
absolute  mastery  of  it  which  Joan  of  Arc  is  reported  to  have 
had  over  the  French  troops.  They  followed  her  with  that 
deep  attention  which  is  unwilling  to  lose  a  word,  but  greeted 
her,  every  few  moments,  with  the  most  wild  applause.  .  .  . 
The  speech  in  itself  and  its  effect  was  magnificent — this 
strong  adjective  is  the  proper  one.  .  .  .  The  work  of  the 
campaign  is  done.  It  only  remains  in  the  name,  we  are  sure, 
of  all  loyal  men  in  this  district  to  express  to  Miss  Dickinson 
heartfelt  thanks  for  her  splendid,  inspiring  aid.  She  has 
aroused  everywhere  respect,  enthusiasm  and  devotion,  let 
us  not  say  to  herself  alone,  but  to  the  country;  while  such 
women  are  possible  in  the  United  States,  there  isn't  a  spot 

294 


ANNA  DICKINSON 

big  enough  for  her  to  stand  on  that  won't  be  fought  for  so 
long  as  there  is  a  man  left." 

Even  that  achievement  was  not  the  height  of  the  young 
orator's  attainment.  Her  next  ovation  was  at  Cooper 
Institute  in  New  York  City,  where  she  spoke  in  May  of  the 
same  year.  Faded  newspaper  accounts  of  that  meeting 
fill  us  with  amazement  that  such  a  triumph  could  be,  with 
only  a  girl's  indomitable  will,  an  insufficient  education  and 
much  reading  of  books  back  of  it. 

"Long  before  the  appointed  hour  for  the  lecture  the  hall 
was  crowded.  The  people  outside  were  determined  to  get 
in  at  all  hazards,  ushers  were  beaten  down,  those  with  tickets 
rushed  in,  and  those  without  tickets  were  pushed  aside,  while 
thousands  went  home  unable  to  get  standing  room  even  in 
the  lobbies  and  outer  halls. 

"  On  the  platform  sat  some  of  the  most  distinguished  men 
of  the  day:  clergymen,  lawyers,  generals,  admirals,  leaders 
of  the  fashionable  set — all  eager  to  do  homage  to  the  simple 
girl  of  whom  the  press  said : 

"'She  is  medium  in  height,  slight  in  form,  graceful  in 
movement,  her  head,  well  poised,  adorned  with  heavy  dark 
hair,  displaying  to  advantage  a  pleasant  face  which  has  all 
the  signs  of  nervous  force  and  of  vigorous  mental  life.  In 
manner  she  is  unembarrassed,  without  a  shade  of  boldness; 
her  gestures  are  simple,  her  voice  is  of  wonderful  power, 
penetrating  rather  than  loud,  as  clear  as  the  tone  of  metal, 
and  yet  with  a  reed-like  softness.  Her  vocabulary  is  simple? 
and  in  no  instance  has  there  been  seen  a  straining  after 
effective  expressions;  yet  her  skill  in  using  ordinary  lan 
guage  is  so  great  that  with  a  single  phrase  she  presents  a 
picture  and  delivers  a  poem  in  a  sentence.' ' 

At  the  close  of  the  meeting,  which  had  been  opened  by 
Henry  Ward  Beecher,  he  rose  and  said,  with  real  emotion, 
"Let  no  man  open  his  lips  here  to-night;  music  is  the  only 

295 


TEN  AMERICAN  GIRLS   FROM  HISTORY 

fitting  accompaniment  to  the  eloquent  utterances  we  have 
heard."  Then  the  famous  Hutchinson  family  sang  and 
closed  the  meeting  with  the  John  Brown  song,  in  which  the 
vast  audience  joined  with  thrilling  effect. 

From  that  Cooper  Institute  meeting  Anna  received  al 
most  one  thousand  dollars,  an  incredible  amount  for  a 
simple  speech  to  her  unmercenary  spirit,  but  one  which 
was  to  be  duplicated  many  times  before  her  career  was 
over. 

After  that  meeting  in  New  York  her  reputation  as  a  public 
speaker  was  established,  despite  the  carping  critics,  and  she 
continued  to  win  fresh  laurels,  not  only  for  herself,  but  for 
vital  issues.  When  doing  more  campaigning  in  Pennsyl 
vania  she  had  to  travel  through  the  mining  districts,  where 
her  frank  words  were  often  ridiculed  and  she  was  pelted 
with  stones,  rotten  eggs,  and  other  unpleasant  missiles. 
But  she  bore  it  all  like  a  warrior,  and  made  a  remarkable 
record  for  speeches  in  parts  of  the  State  where  no  man 
dared  to  go.  Despite  this  and  the  fact  that  the  vic 
torious  party  owed  its  success  largely  to  the  young  orator, 
the  committee  never  paid  her  one  cent  for  her  services — 
to  their  great  discredit,  probably  having  spent  all  their 
campaign  funds  in  some  other  less  legitimate  way  and 
thinking  they  could  more  easily  defraud  a  girl  than  a  more 
shrewd  man. 

Nothing  daunted,  she  continued  to  speak  wherever  she 
could  get  a  hearing,  and  at  last  came  an  invitation  to  make 
an  address  in  Washington,  D.  C.  Here  indeed  was  a  tri 
umph!  She  hesitated  long  before  accepting  the  invitation, 
for  it  would  be  a  trying  ordeal,  as  among  her  audience  would 
be  the  President  and  many  diplomats  and  high  government 
officials.  But  with  sturdy  courage  she  accepted,  and  as  a 
result  faced,  as  she  later  said,  the  most  brilliant  audience 
ever  assembled  to  hear  her  speak.  It  was  a  unique  sensa- 

296 


ANNA  DICKINSON 

tion  for  the  dignitaries  and  men  of  mark  to  sit  as  listeners  at 
the  feet  of  this  slender  girl,  who  was  speaking  on  profound 
questions  of  the  day;  but  she  made  a  deep  impression,  even 
on  those  who  did  not  agree  with  her  opinions,  and  it  was  a 
proud  moment  of  her  life  when  at  the  close  of  the  meeting  she 
met  the  President  and  his  Cabinet.  The  Chief  Executive 
gladly  granted  her  an  interview  for  the  following  day, 
and  like  other  men  of  lesser  rank,  was  carried  out  of  himself 
as  he  watched  the  play  of  expression,  the  light  and  shade  on 
her  mobile  face,  as  they  talked  together  of  the  vital  topics 
of  the  day. 

Anna  Dickinson  was  now  an  orator  beyond  a  doubt;  in 
fact,  the  only  girl  orator  the  country  had  ever  known.  More 
than  that,  she  made  use  of  her  eloquence,  her  magnetism, 
her  flow  of  language,  not  for  any  minor  use,  but  in  present 
ing  to  the  public  the  great  problems  of  her  day  and  in  plead 
ing  for  honor  and  justice,  freedom  and  fullness  of  joy  for  the 
individual,  with  such  intensity  of  purpose  as  few  men  have 
ever  used  in  pleading  a  cause. 

That  she  wrote  and  acted  in  a  play  dealing  with  one  of  the 
subjects  nearest  her  heart,  and  that  she  published  a  novel  of 
the  same  kind,  added  nothing  to  her  fame.  She  was  wholly 
an  orator  with  an  instinctive  knowledge  of  the  way  to  play 
on  the  emotions  of  her  listeners.  Her  faults  were  the  faults 
of  an  intense  nature  too  early  obliged  to  grapple  with  hard 
problems;  her  virtues  were  those  of  a  strong,  independent, 
unselfish  nature.  It  has  been  said  that  she  rose  to  fame  on 
the  crest  of  three  waves:  the  negro  wave,  the  war  wave,  and 
the  woman  wave.  If  that  is  so,  then  was  her  success  as  a 
public  speaker  something  of  which  to  be  proud,  for  to  have 
spoken  on  such  subjects  surely  betokens  a  great  nature. 
Anna  Dickinson  has  been  called  the  "Joan  of  Arc"  of  her  day 
and  country.  If  she  had  not  the  delicate  spiritual  vision  of 
the  Maid  of  France,  she  had  her  superb  courage  in  reaching 

297 


TEN  AMERICAN  GIRLS   FROM  HISTORY 

up  toward  an  ideal.  What  she  was  and  what  she  accom 
plished  as  an  American  girl,  who  was  an  orator  at  eighteen, 
gives  an  incentive  and  a  new  enthusiasm  to  young  Americans 
of  the  twentieth  century,  for  what  girls  have  done  girls  can 
do,  and  we  believe,  with  that  greatest  of  poets,  that  "the 
best  is  yet  to  be." 


ACKNOWLEDGMENT 

The  writer  of  this  book  gratefully  acknowledges  her  indebted 
ness  for  valuable  material  gleaned  from  many  sources.  Espe 
cially  does  she  tender  appreciative  thanks  to  the  authors  of  the 
following  works: 

S.  G.  Drake;  Book  of  the  Indians  of  North  America. 

John  Esten  Cooke;  My  Lady  Pocahontas. 

Woodrow  Wilson;  History  of  the  American  People. 

Mrs.  Eliz.  (Eggleston)  Seelye;  Pocahontas. 

Smith,  Elmer  Boyd;  Story  of  Pocahontas  S3  Capt.  Smith. 

Mabie,  H.  W.;  Heroines  Every  Child  Should  Know. 

Holland,  R.  S.;   Historic  Girlhoods. 

Woodbury,  E.  C.  D.  Q.;  Dorothy  Quincy,  Wife  of  John  Hancock- 

Sears,  Lorenzo;  John  Hancock,  the  Picturesque  Patriot. 

National  Cyclopedia  of  American  Biography. 

Raum;  History  of  New  Jersey. 

Stockton,  Frank;  Stories  of  New  Jersey. 

McGeorge,  J.  C.;  "A  N.  J.  Heroine  of  the  Revolution"  (Am. 
Monthly  Magazine}. 

Beymer,  W.  G.;  On  Hazardous  Service. 

James,  George  Wharton;  Heroines  of  California. 

Houten,  E.  L.;   The  Donner  Party. 

Murphy,  Virginia  Reed;  "Across  the  Plains  in  the  Donner 
Party."  (Cent.  Mag.,  1891.) 

Ellet,  E.  E.;  Pioneer  Women  of  the  West. 

Eilet,  E.  E.;  Women  of  the  American  Revolution. 

299 


ACKNOWLEDGMENT 

Parton,  James;  Eminent  Women  of  the  Age. 
Barton,  Clara;  Story  of  the  Red  Cross. 
Epler,  P.  H.;  Life  of  Clara  Barton. 

Bonselle  &  De  Forest;  Little  Women  Letters  from  the  Home  of 

Alcott. 

Cheney;  Life  and  Letters  of  Louisa  Alcott. 
Morris,  Clara;  Life  on  the  Stage. 
Outlook,  Outing,  Century,  Munsey,  Hist.  Mag.,  Etc. 
Christian;  History  of  Richmond. 
Anonymous;  Famous  Prison  Escapes. 
Anonymous;  Richmond  Prisons. 
McMasters;  Primary  History  of  United  States. 
Memorial  to  Clara  Barton. 


HARPER'S 
CAMP   LIFE  SERIES 


CAMPING  ON  THE  GREAT  RIVER 

BY  RAYMOND  S.  SPEARS 

A  farmer's  son  ventures  out  into  the  great  world  to 
make  a  man  of  himself  and  succeeds.  He  embarks  in 
a  shanty-boat  and  sails  down  the  Ohio  and  Mississippi, 
where  he  has  all  kinds  of  adventures  which  will  make 
the  boy-reader  long  to  imitate  him. 

CAMPING  ON   THE  GREAT  LAKES 
BY  RAYMOND  S.  SPEARS 

A  story  of  self-reliance  and  independence  as  well 
as  adventure.  Will  Sayne  and  Miles  Breton  take 
a  voyage  of  discovery  from  Ontario  and  Erie,  through 
Huron  to  the  vast  stretch  of  Lake  Superior.  They  be 
come  involved  innocently  in  smugglers'  plots. 

CAMPING  IN  THE  WINTER  WOODS 
BY  ELMER  RUSSELL  GREGOR 

The  story  of  two  boys  who  are  granted  the  privilege 
of  a  winter  of  hunting  and  trapping  in  the  Maine 
woods  under  the  tuition  of  their  father's  famous  guide. 
Old  Ben.  It  is  not  only  a  fine  story  but  is  filled  with 
the  information  about  wild  animals  and  woodcraft  that 
boys  love. 

CAMPING  ON  WESTERN  TRAILS 
BY  ELMER  RUSSELL  GREGOR 

The  same  two  boys  spend  a  summer  in  the  Rocky 

Mountains,  shoot  mountain-lions  and  wolves,  secure 

photographs  of  mountain-sheep  and  bears,  pan  gold  in 

canon  streams,  and  are  nearly  suffocated  in  a  forest  fire. 

Illustrated.    Post  8vo 


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HOLLOW  TREE 
STORIES 

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HOW  MR.  DOG  GOT  EVEN 

HOW  MR.  RABBIT  LOST  HIS   TAIL 

MR.  RABBITS  BIG  DINNER 

MAKING   UP  WITH  MR.  DOG 

MR.  'POSSUM'S  GREAT  BALLOON   TRIP 

WHEN  JACK  RABBIT  WAS  A  LITTLE  BOY 

MR.    TURTLE'S  FLYING  ADVENTURE 

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Volumes,    sold    together    or    separately.     Illustrated 
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